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REQUEST  AT 
REFERENCE  DESK 
BY  ABOVE 
CALL  NUMBERS 


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tIBRARY 


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JOHN   Q.   ZIMMERMAN. 


With    the    Life  of  the  Author. 


IN  TWO  PARTS. 


NE  W-YO  11  K:  —  C.  WELLS, 
.    .  56,  Gold  street. 

1840. 


CONTENTS. 


PART  L 
CHAP. 

Life  of  the  author      •-•.....9 
i.  Introduction      ••        ••-••..15 

ii.  Influence  of  solitude  upon  the  mind,      •       •       .       -19 
in.  Influence  of  solitude  upon  the  heart,      ....      60 
iv.  General  advantages  of  retirement.          ....     109 
v.  Advantages  of  solitude  In  exile.      ...  •    134 

vi.  Advantages  of  solitude  In  old  age  and  on  the  bed  of  death  138 


PART  H, 

i.  Introduction, 149 

ii.  Of  the  motives  to  solitude,  ...  ...  157 

in.  Disadvantages  of  solitude,       ......  185 

rv.  Influence  of  solitude  on  the  imagination,  ...  200 

v.  Effects  of  solitude  on  a  melancholy  mind,  ...  216 

vi.  Influence  of  solitude  on  the  passions,  ....  235 

vn.  Of  the  danger  of  idleness  in  solitude,  ....  274 

vm.  Conclusion,  .........  279 


PREFACE. 


WEAK  and  delicate  minds  may,  perhaps,  be  alarmed 
by  the  title  of  this  work.  The  word  solitude,  may  pos- 
sibly engender  melancholy  ideas ;  but  they  have  only 
to  read  a  few  pages  to  be  undeceived.  The  author  is 
not  one  of  those  extravagant  misanthropists  who  ex- 
pect that  men,  formed  by  nature  for  the  enjoyments  of 
society,  and  impelled  continually  towards  it  by  a  mul- 
titude of  powerful  and  invincible  propensities,  should 
seek  refuge  in  forests,  and  inhabit  the  dreary  cave  or 
lonely  cell ;  he  is  a  friend  to  the  species,  a  rational  phi- 
losopher, and  the  virtuous  citizen,  who,  encouraged  by 
the  esteem  of  his  sovereign,  endeavors  to  enlighten  the 
minds  of  his  fellow  creatures  upon  a  subject  of  infinite 
importance  to  them,  the  attainment  of  true  felicity. 

No  writer  appears  more  completely  convinced  than 
M.  Zimmerman,  that  man  is  born  for  society,  or  feels 
its  duties  with  more  refined  sensibility. 

It  is  the  nature  of  human  society,  and  its  correspon- 
dent duties,  which  he  here  undertakes  to  examine. 
The  important  characters  of  father,  husband,  son,  and 
citizen,  impose  on  man  a  variety  of  obligations,  which 
are  always  dear  to  virtuous  minds,  ana  establish  be- 
tween him,  his  country,  his  family,  and  his  friends,  re- 
lations too  necessary  and  attractive  to  be  disregarded. 

"  What  wonder,  therefore,  since  th'  endearing  ties 

Of  passion  link  the  universal  kind 

Of  man  so  close  ;  what  wonder  if  to  search 

This  common  nature  through  the  various  change 

Of  sex,  of  age,  and  fortune,  and  the  frame 

Of  each  peculiar,  draw  the  busy  mind 

With  unresisted  charms  ?    The  spacious  west, 

And  all  the  teeming  regions  of  the  south, 

Hold  not  a  quarry  to  the  curious  flight, 

Of  knowledge  half  so  tempting  or  so  fair, 

Aa  man  to  man." 

1* 


6  PREFACE. 

But  it  is  not  amidst  tumultuous  joys  and  noisy  plea- 
sures ;  in  the  chimeras  of  ambition,  or  the  illusions  of 
self-love ;  in  the  indulgence  of  feeling,  or  the  gratifica- 
tion of  desire,  that  men  must  expect  to  feel  the  charms 
of  those  mutual  ties  which  link  them  so  firmly  to  soci- 
ety. It  is  not  in  such  enjoyments  that  men  can  feel 
the  dignity  of  those  duties,  the  performance  of  which 
nature  has  rendered  productive  of  so  many  pleasures, 
or  hope  to  taste  that  true  felicity  which  results  from  an 
independent  mind  and  a  contented  heart :  a  felicity  sel- 
dom sought  after,  only  because  it  is  so  little  known, 
but  which  every  individual  may  find  within  his  own 
bosom.  Who,  alas!  does  not  constantly  experience 
the  necessity  of  entering  into  that  sacred  asylum  to 
search  for  consolation  under  the  real  or  imaginary 
misfortunes  of  life,  or  to  alleviate  indeed  more  frequent- 
ly the  fatigue  of  its  painful  pleasures  ?  Yes,  all  men, 
from  the  /nercenary  trader,  who  sinks  under  the  anxie- 
ty of  his  daily  task,  to  the  proud  statesman,  intoxicated 
by  the  incense  of  popular  applause,  experience  the  de- 
sire of  terminating  their  arduous  career.  Every  bosom 
feels  an  anxiety  for  repose,  and  fondly  wishes  to  steal 
from  the  vortex  of  a  busy  and  perturbed  life,  to  enjoy 
the  tranquillity  of  solitude. 

"  Hackney'd  in  business,  wearied  at  that  oar 

Which  thousands,  once  chain'd  fast  to,  quit  no  more, 

But  which,  when  life  at  ebb,  runs  weak  and  low, 

All  wish,  or  seem  to  wish,  they  could  forego ; 

The  statesman,  lawyer,  merchant,  man  of  trade, 

Pant  for  the  refuge  of  a  peaceful  shade 

Where  all  his  long  anxieties  forgot, 

Amidst  the  charms  of  a  sequester'd  spot, 

Or  recollected  only  to  gild  o'er 

And  add  a  smile  to  what  was  sweet  before, 

He  may  possess  the  joys  he  thinks  he  sees, 

Lay  his  old  age  upon  the  lap  of  case, 

Improve  the  remnant  of  his  wasted  span, 

And  having  liv'd  a  triiler,  die  a  man." 

It  is  under  the  peaceful  shades  of  solitude  that  the 
mind  regenerates  and  acquires  fresh  force ;  it  is  there 
alone  that  the  happy  can  enjoy  the  fulness  of  felicity, 
or  the  miserable  forget  their  wo ;  it  is  there  that  the 
bosom  of  sensibility  experiences  its  most  delicious 
emotions ;  it  is  there  that  creative  genius  frees  itself 
from  the  thraldom  of  society,  and  surrenders  itself  to 
the  impetuous  rays  of  an  ardent  imagination.  To  this 
desired  goal  all  our  ideas  and  desires  perpetually  tend. 


PREFACE.  7 

*  There  is,"  says  Dr.  Johnson,  "  scarcely  any  writer, 
who  has  not  celebrated  the  happiness  of  rural  privacy, 
and  delighted  himself  and  his  readers  with  the  melody 
of  birds,  the  whisper  of  groves,  and  the  murmurs  of 
rivulets  ;  nor  any  man  eminent  for  extent  of  capacity, 
or  greatness  of  exploits,  that  has  not  left  behind  him 
some  memorials  of  lonely  wisdom  and  silent  dignity." 

The  original  work  from  which  the  following  pages 
are  selected,  consists  of  four  large  volumes,  which  have 
acquired  the  universal  approbation  of  the  German  em- 
pire, and  obtained  the  suffrages  of  an  empress  celebra- 
ted for  the  superior  brilliancy  of  her  mind,  and  \yho 
has  signified  her  approbation  in  the  most  flattering 
manner. 

On  the  26th  of  January,  1785,  a  courier,  dispatched 
by  the  Russian  envoy  at  Hamburg,  presented  M.  Zim- 
merman with  a  small  casket,  in  the  name  of  her  ma- 
jesty the  empress  of  Russia.  The  casket  contained  a 
rin^  set  round  with  diamonds  of  an  extraordinary  size 
and  lustre  ;  and  a  gold  medal  bearing  on  one  side  the 
portrait  of  the  empress,  and  on  the  other  the  date  of 
the  happy  reformation  of  the  Russian  empire.  This 
present  the  empress  accompanied. with  a  letter,  written 
with  her  own  hand,  containing  these  remarkable  words: 
— "To  M.  Zimmerman,  counsellor  of  state,  and  physi- 
cian to  his  Britannic  majesty,  to  thank  him  for  the  ex- 
cellent precepts  he  has  given  to  mankind  in  his  treatise 
upon  solitude." 


LIFE  OF  ZIMMERMAN. 


JOHN  GEORGE  ZIMMERMAN  was  born  on  the  8th  day 
of  December,  1728,  at  Brugg,  a  small  town  in  the  can- 
ton of  Berne. 

His  father,  John  Zimmerman,  was  eminently  distin- 
guished as  an  able  and  eloquent  member  of  the  provin- 
cial council.  His  mother,  who  was  equally  respected 
and  beloved  for  her  good  sense,  easy  manners,  and 
modest  virtues,  was  the  daughter  of  the  celebrated 
Pache,  whose  extraordinary  learning  and  great  abili- 
ties, had  contributed  to  advance  him  to  a  seat  in  the 
parliament  of  Paris. 

The  father  of  Zimmerman  undertook  the  arduous 
task  of  superintending  his  education,  and,  by  the  assis- 
tance of  able  preceptors,  instructed  him  in  the  rudi- 
ments of  all  the  useful  and  ornamental  sciences,  until 
he  had  attained  the  age  of  fourteen  years,  when  he 
sent  him  to  the  university  of  Berne,  where,  under 
Kirchberger,  the  historian  and  professor  of  rhetoric, 
and  Altman,  the  celebrated  Greek  professor,  he  studi- 
ed, for  three  years,  philology  and  the  belles  lettres, 
with  unremitting  assiduity  and  attention. 

Having  passed  nearly  five  years  at  the  university,  he 
began  to  think  of  applying  the  stores  of  information 
he  had  acquired  to  the  purposes  of  active  life  ;  and  af- 
ter mentioning  the  subject  cursorily  to  a  few  relations, 
he  immediately  resolved  to  follow  the  practice  of  phy- 
sic. The  extraordinary  fame  of  Haller,  who  had  re- 
cently been  promoted  by  king  George  II.  to  a  profes- 
sorship in  the  university  of  Gottingen,  resounded  at 
this  time  throughout  Europe :  and  Zimmerman  deter- 
mined to  prosecute  his  studies  in  physic  under  the  aus- 
pices of  this  great  and  celebrated  master.  He  was  ad- 


10  THE  LIFE  OP 

mitted  into  the  university  on  the  12th  of  September, 
1747,  and  obtained  his  degree  on  the  14th  of  August, 
1751.  To  relax  his  mind  from  severer  studies,  he  cul- 
tivated a  complete  knowledge  of  the  English  language, 
and  became  so  great  a  proficient  in  the  polite  and  ele- 
gant literature  of  this  country,  that  the  British  poets, 
particularly  Shakspeare,  Pope,  and  Thomson,  were  as 
familiar  to  him  as  his  favorite  authors,  Homer  and  Vir- 
gil. Every  moment,  in  short,  of  the  four  years  he 
passed  at  Gottingen,  was  employed  in  the  improve- 
ment of  his  mind  ;  and  so  early  as  the  year  1751,  he 
produced  a  work  in  which  he  discovered  the  dawmngs 
of  that  extraordinary  genius  which  afterwards  spread 
abroad  with  so  much  effulgence.* 

During  the  early  part  of  his  residence  at  Berne,  he 
published  many  excellent  essays  on  various  subjects  in 
the  Helvetic  Journal ;  particularly  a  work  on  the  ta- 
lents and  erudition  of  Haller.  This  grateful  tribute, 
to  the  just  merits  of  his  friend  and  benefactor,  he  af- 
terwards enlarged  into  a  complete  history  of  his  life 
and  writings,  as  a  scholar,  a  philosopher,  a  physician, 
and  a  man. 

The  health  of  Haller,  which  had  suffered  greatly  by 
the  severity  of  study,  seemed  to  decline  in  proportion 
as  his  fame  increased ;  and,  obtaining  permission  to 
leave  Gottingen,  he  repaired  to  Berne,  to  try,  by  the 
advice  and  assistance  of  Zimmerman,  to  restore,  if 
possible,  his  decayed  constitution.  The  benefits  he 
experienced  in  a  short  time  were  so  great,  that  he  de- 
termined to  relinquish  his  professorship,  and  to  pass 
the  remainder  of  his  days  in  that  city.  In  the  family 
of  Haller,  lived  a  young  lady,  nearly  related  to  him, 
whose  maiden  name  was  Mely,and  whose  husband,  M. 
Stek.  had  been  sometime  dead.  Zimmerman  became 
deeply  enamored  of  her  charms:  he  offered  her  his 
hand  in  marriage ;  and  they  were  united  at  the  altar 
in  the  bands  of  mutual  affection. 

Soon  after  his  union  with  this  amiable  woman,  the 
situation  of  physician  to  the  town  of  Brugg  became 
vacant,  which  he  was  invited  by  the  inhabitants  to  fill ; 
and  he  accordingly  relinquished  the  pleasures  and  ad- 
vantages he  enjoyed  at  Berne  and  ret  rnedtoth  place 
of  his  nativity,  with  a  view  to  settle  himself  there  for 
life.  His  time,  however,  was  not  so  entirely  engrossed 

*  Diseertatio  Physiologica  de  irritabilitate  quam  publice  defended 
Job,  Georgius  Zimmerman,  Gocit.  4to.  1751. 


ZIMMERMAN  11 

by  the  duties  of  his  profession,  as  to  prevent  him  from 
indulging  his  mind  in  the  pursuits  of  literature  ;  and 
he  read  almost  every  work  of  reputed  merit,  whether 
of  physic,  or  moral  philosophy,  belles  lettres^  history, 
voyages,  or  even  novels  and  romances,  which  the  va- 
rious presses  of  Europe  from  time  to  time  produced. 
The  novels  and  romances  of  England,  in  particular 
gave  him  great  delight. 

But  the  amusements  which  Brugg  afforded  were 
extremely  confined:  and  he  fell  into  a  state  of  nervous 
langor,  or  rather  into  a  peevish  dejection  of  spirits, 
neglecting  society,  and  devoting  himself  almost  en- 
tirely to  a  retired  and  sedentary  fife. 

Under  these  circumstances,  this  excellent  and  able 
man  passed  fourteen  years  of  an  uneasy  life ;  but  nei- 
ther his  increasing  practice,  the  success  of  his  literary 
pursuits,*  the  exhortations  of  his  friends,  nor  the  en 
deavors  of  his  family,  were  able  to  remove  the  melan- 
choly and  discontent  that  preyed  continually  on  his 
mind.  After  some  fruitless  efforts  to  please  him,  he 
was  in  the  beginning  of  April,  1768,  appointed  by  the 
interest  of  Dr.  Tissot,  and  baron  Hockstettin,  to  the 
l>ost  of  principal  physician  to  the  king  of  Great  Bri- 
tain, at  Hanover ;  and  he  departed  from  Brugg,  to  take 
possession  of  his  new  office,  on  the  4th  of  July,  in  the 
same  year.  *  Here  he  was  plunged  into  the  deepest 
affliction  by  the  loss  of  his  amiable  wife,  who  after 
inany^years  of  lingering  sufferance,  and  pious  resigna- 
tion, expired  in  his  arms,  on  the  23d  of  June,  1770 ; 

*  The  following  is  a  correct  list  of  his  writings,  in  the  order  in  which, 
they  appear  to  have  been  published  : 

1.  Dissertatio  Inauguralis  de  Jrritabflfrate,  4to.  Gottingen,  1751 

2.  The  life  of  Professor  Hallcr,  Svo.  Zurich,  1755. 

3.  Thoughts  on  the  earthquake  which  was  felt  on  the  9th  of  De 

cember,  1755,  in  Swisserland,  4to.  1756. 

4.  The  Subversion  of  Lisbon,  a  Poem,  4to.  1776. 

5.  Meditations  on  Solitude,  Svo.  1756. 

6.  Essay  on  National  Pride,  Svo.  Zurich,  1764. 

7.  Treatise  on  Experience  in  Physic,  Svo.  Zurich,  1764. 

8.  Treatise  on  the  Dysentery,  Svo.  Zurich,  1767. 
8.  Essay  on  Solitude,  4to.  1773. 

10.  Essay  on  Lavator's  Phisiognomy.    Hanover,  1778. 

11.  Essays,  consisting  of  agreeable  and  instructive  Tales,  Svo.  1779- 

12.  Conversations  with  the  king  of  Prussia. 
18.  Treatise  on  Frederick  the  Great,  I7S8. 

14.  Select  views  of  the  Life,  Reign  and  Character  of  Frederick  the 

Great. 

15.  A  variety  of  works  published  in  the  Helvetic  Journal  and  in  th» 

Journals  of  the  Physiological  Society  at  Zurich. 

16.  A  Work  on  Zoology 


12  THE  LIFE  OF 

an  event  which  he  has  described  in  the  follo\ying  work, 
with  eloquent  tenderness  and  sensibility.  His  children 
too,  were  to  him  additional  causes  of  the  keenest  an- 
guish and  the  deepest  distress.  His  daughter  had  from 
her  earliest  infancy,  discovered  symptoms  of  consump- 
tion, so  strong  and  inveterate  as  to  defy  all  the  powers 
of  medicine,  and  which,  in  the  summer  of  1781,  de 
stroyed  her  life.  The  character  of  this  amiable  girl, 
and  the  feelings  of  her  afflicted  father  on  this  melan- 
choly event,  his  own  pen  has  very  affectingly  described 
in  the  following  work. 

But  the  state  and  condition  of  his  son  was  still  more 
distressing  to  his  feelings  than  even  the  death  of  his 
beloved  daughter.  This  unhappy  youth,  who,  while 
he  was  at  the  university,  discovered  the  finest  fancy 
and  the  soundest  understanding,  either  from  a  malig- 
nant and  inveterate  species  of  scrofula,  with  which  he 
had  been  periodically  tortured  from  his  earliest  infancy, 
or  from  too  close  an  application  to  studj,  fell  very  ear- 
ly in  life  into  a  state  of  bodily  infirmity  and  mental 
l;in°ror,  which  terminated  in  the  month  of  December, 
1777,  in  a  total  derangement  of  his  faculties ;  and  he 
has  now  continued,  in  spite  of  every  endeavor  to  re- 
store him,  a  perfect  idiot  for  more  than  twenty  years. 

The  domestic  comforts  of  Zimmerman  were  now 
almost  entirely  destroyed;  till  at  length, he  fixed  upon 
the  daughter  of  M.  Berger,  the  king's  physician  at 
Lunenbourg,  and  niece  to  haron  de  Berger,  as  a  person 
in  every  respect  qualified-to  make  him  happy,  and  they 
were  united  to  each  other  in  marriage  about  the  begin- 
ning of  October,  1782.  Zimmerman  was  nearly  thirty 
years  older  than  his  bride :  but  genius  and  good  sense 
are  always  young :  and  the  similarity  of  their  charac- 
ters obliterated  all  recollection  of  disparity  of  age. 

It  was  at  this  period  that  he  composed  his  great  and 
favorite  work  on  solitude,  thirty  years  after  the  publi- 
cation of  his  first  essay  on  the  subject.  It  consists  of 
four  volumes  in  quarto :  the  two  first  of  which  were 
published  in  1784 ;  and  the  remaining  volumes  in  1786. 
"  A  work,"  says  Tissot,  "  which  will  always  be  read 
with  as  much  profit  as  pleasure,  as  it  contains  the  most 
sublime  conceptions,  the  greatest  sagacity  of  observa- 
tion, and  extreme  propriety  of  application,  much  abili- 
ty in  the  choice  of  examples,  and  (what  I  cannot  com- 
mend too  highly,  because  I  can  say  nothing  that  does 
him  so  much'honor,  nor  give  him  any  praise  that  would 


ZIMMERMAN.  13 

be  more  gratifying  to  his  own  heart)  a  constant  anxie- 
ty for  the  interest  of  religion,  with  the  sacred  and  so- 
lemn truths  of  which  his  mind  was  most  devoutly  im- 
pressed." 

The  king  of  Prussia,  while  he  was  reviewing  his 
troops  in  Silesia,  in  the  autumn  of  the  year  1785,  caught 
a  severe  cold,  which  settled  on  his  lungs  and  in  the 
course  of  nine  months  brought  on  symptoms  of  an  ap- 
proaching dropsy.  Zimmerman,  by  two  very  flattering 
letters  of  the  6th  and  16th  of  June,  1786,  was  solicited 
by  his  majesty  to  attend  him,  and  he  arrived  at  Potz- 
dam  on  the  23d  of  the  same  month ;  but  he  immedi- 
ately discovered  that  his  royal  patient  had  but  little 
hopes  of  recovery  ;  and,  after  trying  the  effect  of  such 
medicines  as  he  thought  most  likely  to  afford  relief,  he 
returned  to  Hanover  on  the  llth  of  July  following.* 
But  it  was  not  Frederick  alone  who  discovered  his  am* 
lities.  When  in  the  year  1788,  the  melancholy  state 
of  the  king  of  England's  health  alarmed  the  affection 
of  his  subjects,  ana  produced  an  anxiety  throughout 
Europe  for  his  recovery,  the  government  of  Hanover 
dispatched  Zimmerman  to  Holland,  that  he  might  be 
nearer  London,  in  case  his  presence  there  became  ne- 
crssary  ;  and  he  continued  at  the  Hague  until  all  dan- 
ger was  over. 

Zimmerman  was  the  first  who  had  the  courage  to 
unveil  the  daneerous  principles  of  the  new  philoso- 
phers, and  to  exhibit  to  the  eyes  of  the  German  prin- 
ces the  risk  they  ran  in  neglecting  to  oppose  the  pro- 
gress of  so  formidable  a  league.  He  convinced  many 
of  them,  and  particularly  the  emperor  Leopold  II.  tlm't 
the  vievvs  of  these  illuminated  conspirators  were  the 
destruction  of  Christianity,  and  the  subversion  of  all 
regular  government.  These  exertions,  while  they  con- 
tributed to  lessen  the  danger  which  threatened  his 
adopted  country,  greatly  impaired  his  health. 

In  the  month  of  November,  1794,  he  was  obliged  to 
have  recourse  to  strong  opiates  to  procure  even  a  short 
repose:  his  appetite  decreased ;  his  strength  failed  him ; 
and  he  became  so  weak  and  emaciated,  that,  in  Jan- 
uary 1795.  he  was  induced  to  visit  a  few  particular  pa 
tien'ts  in  his  carriage,  it  was  painful  to  him  to  write  a 
prescription,  and  he  frequently  fainted  while  ascend- 
ing to  the  room.  These  symptoms  were  followed  by 

*  The  king  only  survived  the  departure  of  his  physician  five  weeks 
he  died  on  the  llih  of  Ausust,  17S6 

2 


14  THELIFEOF 

a  dizziness  in  his  head,  which  obliged  him  to  relin- 
quish all  business.  At  length  the  axis  of  his  brain 
gave  way,  and  reduced  him  to  such  a  state  of  mental 
imbecility,  that  he  was  haunted  continually  by  an  idea 
that  the  enemy  was  plundering  his  house,  and  that  he 
and  his  family  were  reduced  to  a  state  01  misery  and 
want.  His  medical  friends,  particularly  Dr.  Wich- 
man.  by  whom  he  was  constantly  attended,  contribu- 
ted their  advice  and  assistance  to  restore  him  to  health ; 
and  conceiving  that  a  journey  and  a  change  of  air  were 
the  best  remedies  that  could  be  applied,  they  sent  him 
to  Eutin,  in  the  duchy  of  Holstein,  where  he  continued 
three  months,  and  about  the  month  of  June,  1795.  re- 
turned to  Hanover  greatly  recovered.  But  the  fatal 
dart  had  infixed  itself  too  deeply  to  be  entirely  remov- 
ed ;  he  soon  afterwards  relapsed  into  his  former  imbe- 
cility, and  barely  existed  in  lingering  sufferance  for 
many  months,  refusing  to  take  any  medicines,  and 
scarcely  any  food:  continually  harassed  and  distres- 
sed by;  the  cruel  allusion  of  poverty,  which  again  haun- 
ted his  imagination.  At  certain  intervals  his  mind 
seemed  to  recover  only  for  the  purpose  of  rendering 


before  he  died,  he  exclaimed,  "Leave  me  to  myself; 
I  am  dying."  At  length  his  emaciated  body  and  ex- 
hausted mind  sunk  beneath  the  burden  of  mortality, 
and  he  expired  without  a  groan,  on  the  7th  October, 
1795,  aged  66  years  and  ten  months. 


SOLITUDE; 

OK   THE 

INFLUENCE    OF   OCCASIONAL  RETIREMENT 
UPON   THB 

MIND    AND    HEART. 

CHAPTER  I. 

Introduction. 

SOLITUDE  is  that  intellectual  state  in  which  the  mind 
voluntarily  surrenders  itself  to  its  own  reflections. 
The  philosopher,  therefore,  who  withdraws  his  atten- 
tion from  every  external  object  to  the  contemplation  of 
his  own  ideas,  is  not  less  solitary  than  he  who  aban- 
dons society,  and  resigns  himself  entirely  to  the  calm 
enjoyments  of  lonely  life. 

The  word  "  solitude"  does  not  necessarily  import  a 
total  retreat  from  the  world  and  its  concerns:  the  dome 
of  domestic  society,  a  rural  village,  or  the  library  of  a 
learned  friend,  may  respectively  become  the  seat  of  soli- 
tude, as  well  as  the  silent  shade  of  some  sequestered 
spot  far  removed  from  all  connection  with  mankind. 

A  person  may  be  frequently  solitary  without  being 
alone.  The  haughty  baron,  proud  of  his  illustrious  de- 
scent, is  solitary  unless  he  is  surrounded  by  his  equals: 
a  profound  reasoner  is  solitary  at  the  tables  of  the  wit- 
ty and  the  gay.  The  mind  may  be  as  abstracted  amidst 
a  numerous  assembly;  as  much  withdrawn  from  every 
surrounding  object ;  as  retired  and  concentrated  in  it- 
self; as  solitary,  in  short,  as  a  monk  in  his  cloister,  or  a 
hermit  in  his  cave.  Solitude,  indeed,  may  exist  amidst 
the  tumultuous  intercourse  of  an  agitated  city  as  well 
as  in  the  peaceful  shades  of  rural  retirement ;  at  Lon- 
don and  at  Paris,  as  well  as  on  the  plains  of  Thebes  and 
the  deserts  of  Nitria. 

The  mind,  when  withdrawn  from  external  objects, 
adopts,  freely  and  etensively,  the  dictates  of  its  own 
ideas,  and  implicitly  follows  the  taste,  the  temperament, 
the  inclination,  and  the  genius,  of  its  possessor.  Saun- 
tering through  the  cloisters  of  the  Magdalen  convent 


INTRODUCTION. 


16 

at  Hidelshiem,  I  could  not  observe,  without  a  smile, 
an  aviary  of  canary  birds,  which  had  been  bred  in  the 
cell  of  a  female  devotee.  A  gentleman  of  Brabant  liv- 
ed five-and-twenty  years  without  ever  going  out  of  his 
house,  entertaining  himself  during  that  long  period 
with  forming  a  magnificent  cabinet  of  pictures  and 
paintings.  Lven  unfortunate  captives,  who  are  doom- 
ed to  perpetual  imprisonment,  may  soften  the  rigors  of 
their  fate,  by  resigning  themselves,  as  far  as  their  situ- 
ation will  permit,  to  the  ruling  passion  of  their  souls. 
Michael  Ducret,  the  Swiss  philosopher,  while  he  was 
confined  in  the  castle  of  Aarburg,  in  the  canton  of 
Berne,  in  Swisserland,  measured  the  height  of  the 
Alps :  and  while  the  mind  of  baron  Trenck,  during  his 
imprisonment  at  Magdebourg,  was  \yith  incessant 
anxiety,  fabricating  projects  to  effect  his  escape,  gen- 
eral Walrave,  the  companion  of  his  captivity,  content- 
edly passed  his  time  in  feeding  chickens. 

The  human  mind,  in  proportion  as  it  is  deprived  of 
external  resources,  sedulously  labors  to  find  within 
itself  the  means  of  happiness,  learns  to  rely  with  confi- 
dence on  its  own  exertions,  and  gains  with  greater 
certainty  the  power  of  being  happy. 

A  work,  therefore,  on  the  subject  of  solitude,  appear- 
ed to  me  likely  to  facilitate  man  in  his  search  after  true 
felicity. 

Unworthy,  however,  as  the  dissipation  and  pleasures 
of  the  world  appear  to  me  to  be,  of  the  avidity  with 
which  they  are  pursued,  I  equally  disapprove  of  the 
extravagant  system  which  inculcates  a  total  derelic- 
tion of  society  ;  which  will  be  found,  when  seriously 
examined,  to  be  equally  romantic  and  impracticable. 
To  be  able  to  live  independent  of  all  assistance,  except 
from  our  own  power,  is,  I  acknowledge,  a  noble  effort 
of  the  human  mind  j  but  it  is  equally  great  and  digni- 
fied to  learn  the  art  of  enjoying  the  comforts  Of  socie- 
ty with  happiness  to  ourselves,  and  with  utility  to 
others. 

While,  therefore,  I  exhort  my  readers  to  listen  to  the 
advantages  of  occasional  retirement^  I  warn  them 
against  that  dangerous  excess  into  which  some  of  the 
disciples  of  this  philosophy  have  fallen ;  an  excess 
equally  repugnant  to  reason  and  religion.  May  I  hap- 
pily steer  through  all  the  dangers  with  which  my  sub- 
ject is  surrounded;  sacrifice  nothing  to  prejudice ;  of- 
fer no  violation  to  truth ;  and  gain  the  approbation  of 


INTRODUCTION.  17 

the  judicious  and  reflecting !  If  affliction  shall  feel 
one  ray  of  comfort,  or  melancholy,  released  from  a 
portion  of  its  horrors,  raise  its  down  cast  head ;  if  I 
shall  convince  the  lover  of  rural  life,  thai  all  the  finer 
springs  of  pleasure  dry  up  and  decay  in  the  intense  joys 
of  crowded  cities,  and  that  the  warmest  emotions  of 
the  heart  become  there  cold  and  torpid ;  if  I  shall 
evince  the  superior  pleasures  of  the  country ;  how  ma- 
ny resources  rural  life  affords  against  the  langors  of 
indolence ;  what  purity  of  sentiment,  what  peaceful 
repose,  what  exalted  happiness,  is  inspired  by  verdant 
meads,  and  the  view  of  lively  flocks  quitting  their  rich 
pastures  to  seek,  with  the  declining  sun,  their  evening 
Folds :  how  highly  the  romantic  scenery  of  a  wild  and 
striking  country,  interspersed  with  cottages,  the  habi- 
tations of  a  happy,  free,  contented  race  of  men,  elevates 
the  soul :  how  far  more  interesting  to  the  heart  are 
the  joyful  occupations  of  rural  industry,  than  the  dull 
and  tasteless  entertainments  of  a  dissipated  city ;  how 
much  more  easily,  in  short,  the  most  excruciating  sor- 
rows are  pleasingly  subdued  on  the  fragrant  border  of 
a  peaceful  stream,  than  in  the  midst  of  those  treacher- 
ous delights  which  occupy  the  courts  of  kings — all  my 
wishes  will  be  accomplished,  and  my  happiness  com- 
plete. 

Retirement  from  the  world  may  prove  peculiarly 
beneficial  at  two  periods  of  life :  in  youth,  to  acquire 
the  rudiments  of  useful  information,  to  lay  the  foun- 
dation of  the  character  intended  to  be  pursued,  and  to 
obtain  that  train  of  thought  which  is  to  guide  us 
through  life ;  in  age,  to  cast  a  retrospective  view  on 
the  course  we  have  run ;  to  reflect  on  the  events  we 
have  observed,  the  vicissitudes  we  have  experienced ; 
to  enjoy  the  flowers  we  have  gathered  on  the  way.  and 
to  congratulate  ourselves  upon  the  tempests  we  have 
survived.  Lord  Bolingbroke,  in  his  "  Idea  of  a  Patriot 
King,"  says,  there  is  not  a  more  profound  nor  a  finer 
observation  in  all  lord  Bacon's  works,  than  the  follow- 
ing :  "  We  must  choose  betimes  such  virtuous  objects 
as  are  proportioned  to  the  means  we  have  of  pursuing 
them,  ana  belong  particularly  to  the  stations  we  are 
in.  and  the  duties  of  those  stations.  We  must  deter- 
mine and  fix  our  minds  in  such  manner  upon  them, 
that  the  pursuit  of  them  may  become  the  business,  and 
the  attainment  of  them  the  end  of  our  whole  lives. 
Thus  we  shall  imitate  the  great  operations  of  nature, 
2* 


18  INTRODUCTION. 

and  not  the  feeble,  slow,  and  imperfect  operations  of 
art.  We  must  not  proceed  in  forming  the  moral  char- 
acter, as  a  statuary  proceeds  in  forming  a  statue,  who 
works  sometimes  on  the  face,  sometimes  on  one  part, 
and  sometimes  on  an  other ;  but  we  must  proceed,  and 
it  is  in  our  power  to  proceed,  as  nature  does  in  form- 
ing a  flower,  or  any  other  of  her  productions ;  rudi- 
menta  partium  omnium  simul  parit  et  producit :  she 
throws  out  altogether,  and  at  once,  the  whole  system 
of  every  being,  and  the  rudiments  of  all  the  parts." 

It  is,  therefore,  more  especially  to  those  youthful 
minds,  who  still  remain  susceptible  of  virtuous  impres- 
sions, that  I  here  pretend  to  point  out  the  path  which 
leads  to  true  felicity.  And  if  you  acknowledge  that  I 
have  enlightened  your  mind,  corrected  your  manners, 
and  tranquillized  your  heart,  I  shall  congratulate  my- 
self on  the  success  of  ray  design,  and  think  my  labors 
richly  rewarded. 

Believe  me,  all  ye  amiable  youths,  from  whose  minds 
the  artifices  and  gayeties  of  the  world  have  not  yet  ob- 
literated the  precepts  of  a  virtuous  education ;  who  are 
yet  uninfected  with  its  inglorious  vanities ;  who,  still 
ignorant  of  the  tricks  and  blandishments  of  seduction, 
have  preserved  the  desire  to  perform  some  glorious 
action,  and  retained  the  power  to  accomplish  it;  who. 
in  the  midst  of  feasting,  dancing,  and  assemblies,  feel 
an  inclination  to  escape  from  their  unsatisfactory  de- 
lights; solitude  will  afford  you  a  safe  asylum.  Let 
the  voice  of  experience  recommend  you  to  cultivate  a. 
fondness  for  domestic  pleasures,  to  incite  and  fortify 
your  souls  to  noble  deeds,  to  acquire  that  cool  judg- 
ment and  intrepid  spirit  which  enables  you  to  form 
correct  estimates  of  the  characters  of  mankind,  and  of 
the  pleasures  of  society.  But  to  accomplish  this  high 
end,  you  must  turn  your  eyes  from  those  trifling  and 
insignificant  examples  which  a  degenerated  race  of 
men  affords,  and  study  the  illustrious  characters  of  t<;e 
ancient  Greeks,  the  Romans,  and  the  Modern  English, 
In  what  nation  will  you  find  more  celebrated  instan- 
ces of  human  greatness  1  What  people  possesses  more 
valor,  courage,  firmness,  and  knowledge;  where  do 
the  arts  and  sciences  shine  with  greater  splendor,  or 
with  more  useful  effect  ?  But  do  not  deceive  your- 
selves by  a  belief  that  you  will  acquire  the  character  of 
an  Englishman  by  wearing  a  cropped  head  of  hair ;  no 
you  must  pluck  the  roots  of  vice  from  your  mind,  de 


INFLUENCE  OP  SOLITUDE  19 

siroy  the  seeds  of  weakness  in  your  bosoms,  and  imi- 
tate the  great  examples  of  heroic  virtue  which  that  na- 
tion so  frequently  affords.  It  is  an  ardent  love  of  lib- 
erty, undaunted  courage,  deep  penetration,  elevated 
sentiment,  and  well  cultivated  understanding,  that 
constitute  the  British  character;  and  not  their  cropped 
heads,  half-boots,  and  round  hats.  It  is  virtue  alone, 
and  not  dress  or  titles,  that  can  ennoble  or  adorn  the 
human  character.  Dress  is  an  object  too  minute  and 
trifiing  wholly  to  occupy  a  rational  mind;  and  an  il- 
lustrious descent  is  only  advantageous  as  it  renders 
the  real  merits  of  its  immediate  possessor  more  con- 
spicuous. Never,  however,  lose  sight  of  this  impor- 
tant truth,  that  no  one  can  be  truly  great  until  he  has 
gained  a  knmcledge  of  himself:  a  Knowledge  which 
can  only  be  acquired  by  occasional  retirement. 


CHAPTER  II. 

The  influence  of  solitude  upon  the  mind. 

THE  true  value  of  liberty  can  only  be  conceived  by 
minds  that  are  free :  slaves  remain  indolently  content- 
ed in  captivity.  Men  who  have  been  long  tossed  upon 
the  troubled  ocean  of  life,  and  have  learned  by  severe 
experience  to  entertain  just  notions  of  the  world  and 
its  concerns,  to  examine  every  object  with  unclouded 
and  impartial  eyes,  to  walk  erect  in  the  strict  and  thor- 
ny paths  of  virtue,  and  to  find  their  happiness  in  the 
reflections  of  an  honest  mind,  alone  are/ree. 

The  path  of  virtue,  indeed,  is  devious,  dark  and  drea- 
ry ;  but  though  it  leads  the  traveller  over  hills  of  diffi- 
culty, it  at  length  brings  him  into  the  delightful  and 
extensive  plains  of  permanent  happiness  and  secure 
repose. 

The  love  of  solitude,  when  cultivated  in  the  morn 
of  life,  elevates  the  mind  to  a  noble  independence;  but 
to  acquire  the  advantage  which  solitude  is  capable  of 
affording,  the  mind  must  not  be  impelled  to  it  bv  me- 
lancholy and  discontent,  but  by  a  real  distaste  to  the 
idle  pleasures  of  the  world,  a  rational  contempt  for  the 
deceitful  joys  of  life,  and  just  apprehensions  of  being 
corrupted  and  seduced  by  its  insinuating  and  destruct- 
ive gayeties. 


20  ON  THE  MWO. 

Many  men  have  acquired  and  exercised  in  solitude 
that  transcendent  greatness  of  mind  which  defies 
events ;  and,  like  the  majestic  cedar,  which  braves  the 
fury  of  the  most  violent  tempest,  have  resisted,  with 
heroic  courage,  the  severest  storms  of  fate. 

Solitude,  indeed,  sometimes  renders  the  mind  in  a 
slight  degree  arrogant  and  conceited  ;  but  these  effects 
are  easily  removed  by  a  judicious  intercourse  with  man- 
kind. Misanthropy,  contempt  of  folly,  and  pride  of  spi- 
rit, are,  in  noble  minds,  changed  by  the  maturity  of 
age  into  dignity  of  character ;  and  that  fear  of  the  opi- 
nion of  the  world  which  awed  the  weakness  and  inex- 
perience of  youth,  is  succeeded  by  firmness,  and  a  high 
disdain  of  those  false  notions  by  which  it  was  dismay- 
ed :  the  observations  once  so  dreadful  lose  all  their 
stings ;  the  mind  views  objects  not  as  they  are,  but  as 
they  ought  to  be;  and,  feeling  a  contempt  for  vice, 
rises  into  a  noble  enthusiasm  for  virtue,  gaining  from 
the  conflict  a  rational  experience  and  a  compassionate 
feeling  which  never  decay. 

The  science  of  the  heart,  indeed,  with  which  youth 
should  be  familiarized  as  early  as  possible,  is  too  fre- 
quently neglected.  It  removes  the  asperities  and  pol- 
ishes the  rough  surfaces  of  the  mind.  This  science  is 
founded  on  that  noble  philosophy  which  regulates  the 
characters  of  men ;  and  operating  more  by  love  than 
by  rigid  precept,  corrects  the  cold  dictates  of  reason  by 
the  warm  feelings  of  the  heart ;  opens  to  view  the  dan- 
gers to  which  they  are  exposed  ;  animates  the  dormant 
faculties  of  the  mind,  and  prompts  them  to  the  prac- 
tice of  all  the  virtues. 

Dion  was  educated  in  all  the  turpitude  and  servility 
of  courts,  accustomed  to  a  life  of  softness  and  effemi- 
nacy, and,  what  is  still  worse,  tainted  by  ostentation, 
luxury,  and  every  species  of  vicious  pleasure;  but  no 
sooner  did  he  listen  to  the  divine  Plato,  and  acquire 
thereby  a  taste  for  that  sublime  philosophy  which  in- 
culcates the  practice  of  virtue,  than  his  whole  soul  be- 
came deeply  enamored  of  its  charms.  The  same  love 
of  virtue  with  which  Plato  inspired  the  mind  of  Dion, 
may  be  silently,  and  almost  imperceptibly  infused  by 
every  tender  mother  into  the  mind  of  her  child.  Phi- 
losophy, from  the  lips  of  a  wise  and  sensible  woman, 
glides  quietly,  but  with  strong  effect,  into  the  mind 
through  the  feelings  of  the  heart.  Who  is  not  fond  of 
walking,  even  through  the  most  rough  and  difficult 


ON  THE  PASSIONS.  21 

paths,  when  conducted  by  the  hand  of  love  ?  What 
species  of  instruction  can  be  more  successful  than  soft 
lessons  from  a  female  tongue,  dictated  by  a  mind  pro- 
found in  understanding,  and  elevated  in  sentiment, 
where  the  heart  feels  all  the  affection  that  her  precepts 
inspire  1  Oh !  may  every  mother,  so  endowed,  be  bless- 
ed with  a  child  who  delights  to  listen  in  private  to  her 
edifying  observations ;  who,  with  a  book  in  his  hand, 
loves  to  seek  among  the  rocks  some  sequestered  spot 
favorable  to  study :  who  when  walking  with  his  dogs 
and  gun,  frequently  reclines  under  the  friendly  shade 
of  some  majestic  tree,  and  contemplates  the  great  and 
glorious  characters  which  the  pages  of  Plutarch  pre- 
sent to  his  view,  instead  of  toiling  through  the  thickest 
of  the  surrounding  woods  hunting  for  game. 

The  wishes  of  a  mother  are  accomplished  when  the 
silence  and  solitude  of  the  forests  seize  and  animate 
the  mind  of  her  loved  child ;  when  he  begins  to  feel 
that  he  has  seen  sufficiently  the  pleasures  of  the  world : 
when  he  begins  to  perceive  that  there  are  greater  and 
more  valued  characters  than  noblemen  or  esquires, 
than  ministers  or  kings;  characters  who  enjoy  a  more 
elevated  sense  of  pleasure  than  gaming  tables  and  as- 
semblies are  capable  of  affording;  who  seek,  at  every 
interval  of  leisure,  the  shades  of  solitude  with  raptur- 
ous delight ;  whose  minds  have  been  inspired  with  a 
love  of  literature  and  philosophy  from  their  earliest  in- 
fancy :  whose  bosoms  have  glowed  with  a  love  of  sci- 
ence through  every  subsequent  period  of  their  lives ; 
and  who,  amidst  the  greatest  calamities,  are  capable  of 
banishing,  by  a  secret  charm,  the  deepest  melancholy 
and  most  profound  dejection. 

The  advantages  of  solitude  to  a  mind  that  feels  a 
real  disgust  at  the  tiresome  intercourses  of  society,  are 
inconceivable.  Freed  from  the  world,  the  veil  which 
obscured  the  intellect  suddenly  falls,  the  clouds  which 
dimmed  the  light  of  reason  disappear,  the  painful  bur- 
di'ii  which  oppressed  the  soul  is  alleviated  ;  we  no  lon- 
ger wrestle  with  surrounding  perils ;  the  apprehension 
of  danger  vanishes;  the  sense  of  misfortune  becomes 
softened ;  the  dispensations  of  Providence  no  longer 
excite  the  murmur  of  discontent ;  and  we  enjoy  the 
delightful  pleasures  of  a  calm,  serene  and  happy  mind. 
Patience  and  resignation  follow  and  reside  with  a  con- 
tented heart ;  every  corroding  care  flies  away  on  the 
wiii»s  of  gayety ;  and  on  every  side  agreeable  and  in- 


23  INFLCENCE  OF  SOLtTUDE. 

teresting  scenes  present  themselves  to  our  view ;  the 
brilliant  sun  sinking  behind  the  lofty  mountains  ting- 
ing their snovy-crowned  turrets  with  golden  rays;  the 
feathered  choir  hastening  to  seek  within  their  mossy 
cells  a  soft,  a  silent,  and  secure  repose ;  the  shrill  crow- 
ing of  the  amorous  cock ;  the  solemn  and  stately  march 
of  oxen  returning  from  their  daily  toil,  and  the  grace- 
ful paces  of  the  generous  steed.  But,  amidst  the  vi- 
cious pleasures  of  a  great  metropolis,  where  sense  and 
truth  are  constantly  despised,  and  integrity  and  consci- 
ence thrown  aside  as  inconvenient  and  oppressive,  the 
fairest  forms  of  fancy  are  obscured,  and  the  purest  vir- 
tues of  the  heart  corrupted. 

But  the  first  and  most  incontestable  advantage  of 
solitude  is,  that  it  accustoms  the  mind  to  think;  the 
imagination  becomes  more  vivid,  and  the  memory 
more  foithful,  while  the  sense  remains  undisturbed, 
and  no  external  object  agitates  the  soul.  Removed  far 
from  the  tiresome  tumults  of  public  society,  where  a 
multitude  of  heterogeneous  objects  dance  before  our 
eyes  and  fill  the  mind  with  incoherent  notions,  we 
learn  to  fix  our  attention  to  a  single  subject,  and  to 
contemplate  that  alone.  An  author,  whose  works  I 
could  read  with  pleasure  every  hour  of  my  life,  says, 
"  It  is  the  power  of  attention  which,  in  a  great  measure 
distinguishes  the  wise  and  great  from  the  vulgar  and 
trifling  herd  of  men.  The  latter  are  accustomed  to 
think,  or  rather  to  dream,  without  knowing  the  subject 
of  their  thoughts.  In  their  unconnected  rovings  they 
pursue  no  end,  they  follow  no  track.  Every  thinsr  floats 
loose  and  disjointed  on  the  surface  of  their  minds,  like 
leaves  scattered  and  blown  about  on  the  face  of  the 
waters." 

The  habit  of  thinking  with  steadiness  and  attention 
can  only  be  acquired  by  avoiding  the  distraction  which 
a  multiplicity  of  objects  always  create;  by  turning  our 
observation  from  external  things,  and  seeking  a  situa- 
tion in  which  our  daily  occupations  are  not  perpetually 
shifting  their  course,  and  changing  their  direction. 

Idleness  and  inattention  soon  destroy  all  the  advan- 
tages of  retirement ;  for  the  most  dangerous  passions, 
when  the  mind  is  not  properly  employed,  rise  into  fer- 
mentation, and  produce  a  variety  of  eccentric  ideas 
and  irregular  desires.  It  is  necessary,  also,  to  elevate 
our  thoughts  above  the  mean  consideration  of  sensual 
objects ;  the  unincumbered  mind  then  recalls  all  that 


ON  THE  PASSIONS.  23 

it  has  read ;  all  that  has  pleased  the  eye  or  delighted 
the  ear ;  and  reflecting  on  every  idea  which  either  ob- 
servation, experience,  or  discourse,  has  produced,  gains 
new  information  by  every  reflection,  and  conveys  the 
purest  pleasures  to  the  soul.  The  intellect  contem- 
plates all  the  former  scenes  of  life ;  views  by  anticipa- 
tion those  that  are  yet  to  come,  and  blends  all  ideas  of 
past  and  future  in  the  actual  enjoyment  of  the  present 
moment.  To  keep,  however,  the  mental  powers  in 
proper  tone,  it  is  necessary  to  direct  our  attention  in- 
variably toward  some  noble  and  interesting  study. 

It  may,  perhaps,  excite  a  smile,  when  I  assert,  that 
solitude  is  the  only  school  in  which  the  characters  of 
men  can  be  properly  developed ;  but  it  must  be  recol- 
lected, that,  although  the  materials  of  this  study  must 
be  amassed  in  society,  it  is  in  solitude  alone  that  we 
can  apply  them  to  their  proper  use.  The  world  is  the 
great  scene  of  our  observations ;  but  to  apply  them  with 
propriety  to  their  respective  objects  is  exclusively  the 
work  of  solitude.  It  is  admitted  that  a  knowledge  of 
the  nature  of  man  is  necessary  to  pur  happiness ;  and 
therefore  I  cannot  conceive  now  it  is  possible  to  call 
those  characters  malignant  and  misanthropic,  who 
while  they  continue  in  the  world,  endeavor  to  discover 
even  the  faults,  foibles  and  imperfections  of  human 
kind.  The  pursuit  of  this  species  of  knowledge,  which 
can  only  be  gained  by  observation,  is  surely  laudable, 
and  not  deserving  the  obloquy  that  has  been  cast  on  it. 
Do  I,  in  my  medical  character,  feel  any  malignity  or 
hatred  to  the  species,  when  I  study  the  nature,  and  ex- 
plore the  secret  causes  of  those  weaknesses  and  disor- 
ders which  are  incidental  to  the  human  frame  ?  When 
I  examine  the  subject  with  the  closest  inspection,  and 
point  out  for  the  general  benefit,  I  hope,  of  mankind, 
as  well  as  for  my  own  satisfaction,  all  the  frail  and  im- 
perfect parts  in  the  anatomy  of  the  human  body? 

But  a  difference  is  supposed  to  exist  between  the  ob- 
servations which  we  are  permitted  to  make  upon  the 
anatomy  of  the  human  body,  and  those  which  we  as- 
sume respecting  the  philosophy  of  the  mind.  The 
physician,  it  is  said,  studies  the  maladies  which  are  in- 
cidental to  the  human  frame,  to  apply  such  remedies 
as  particular  occasion  may  require:  but  it  is  contended, 
that  the  moralist  has  a  different  end  in  view.  This  dis- 
tinction, however,  is  certainly  without  foundation.  A 
sensible  and  feeling  philosopher  views  both  the  moral 


24  INFLUENCE  OF  SOLlTttDB 

and  physical  defects  of  his  fellow  creatures  with  an 
equal  degree  of  regret.  Why  do  moralists  shun  man- 
kind, by  retiring  into  solitude,  if  it  be  not  to  avoid  the 
contagion  of  those  vices  which  they  perceive  so  prev- 
alent in  the  world,  and  which  are  not  observed  by  those 
who  are  in  the  habit  of  seeing  them  daily  indulged 
without  censure  or  restraint?  The  mind,  without 
doubt  feels  a  considerable  degree  of  pleasure  in  detect- 
ing the  imperfections  of  human  nature;  and  whore 
that  detection  may  prove  beneficial  to  mankind,  with- 
out doing  an  injury  to  any  individual,  to  publish  them 
to  the  world,  to  point  out  their  qualities,  to  place  them, 
by  a  luminous  description  before  the  eyes  of  men,  is 
in  my  idea,  a  pleasure  so  far  from  being  mischievous, 
that  I  rather  think,  and  I  trust  I  shall  continue  to  think 
so  even  in  the  hour  of  death,  it  is  the  only  real  mode 
of  discovering  the  machinations  of  the  devil,  and  de- 
stroying the  effects  of  his  W9rk.  Solitude,  therefore, 
as  it  tends  to  excite  a  disposition  to  think  with  effect, 
to  direct  the  attention  to  proper  objects,  to  strengthen 
observation,  and  to  increase  the  natural  sagacity  of  the 
mind,  is  the  school  in  which  a  true  knowledge  of  the 
human  character  is  most  likely  to  be  acquired. 

Bonnet,  in  an  affecting  passage  of  the  preface  to  his 
celebrated  work  on  the  Nature  of  the  Soul,  relates  the 
manner  in  which  solitude  rendered  even  his  defect  of 
sight  advantageous  to  him.  "Solitude,"  says  he,  "ne- 
cessarily leads  the  mind  to  meditation.  The  circum- 
stances in  which  I  have  hitherto  lived,  joined  to  the 
sorrows  whit  h  have  attended  me  for  many  years,  and 
from  which  I  am  not  yet  released,  induced  me  to  seek 
in  reflection  those  comforts  which  my  unhappy  condi- 
tion rendered  necessary ;  and  my  mind  is  now  become 
my  constant  retreat :  from  the  enjoyments  it  affords  I 
derive  pleasures  which,  like  potent  charms,  dispel  all 
my  afflictions."  At  this  period  the  virtuous  Bonnet 
was  almost  blind.  Another  excellent  character,  of  a 
different  kind,  who  devotes  his  time  to  the  education 
of  youth,  Pfeffel,  at  Colmar,  supports  himself  under  the 
affliction  of  total  blindness  in  a  manner  equally  noble 
and  affecting,  by  a  lifeless  solitary  indeed,  but  by  the 
opportunities  01  frequent  leisure  which  he  employs  in 
the  study  of  philosophy,  the  recreations  of  poetry,  and 
the  exercises  of  humanity.  There  was  formerly  in 
Japan  a  college  of  blind  persons,  who,  in  all  probabili- 
ty, were  endued  with  quicker  discernment  than  many 


UPON  THE  MIND.  25 

members  of  more  enlightened  colleges.  These  sight- 
less academicians  devoted  their  time  to  the  study  of 
history,  poetry,  and  music.  The  most  celebrated  traits 
in  the  annals  of  their  country  became  the  subject  of 
their  muse ;  and  the  harmony  of  their  verses  could 
only  be  excelled  by  the  melody  of  their  music.  In  re- 
flecting upon  the  idleness  and  dissipation  in  which  a 
number  of  solitary  persons  pass  their  time,  we  contem- 
plate the  conduct  of  these  blind  Japanese  with  the  high- 
est pleasure.  The  mind's  eye  opened  and  afforded 
them  ample  compensation  for  the  loss  of  the  coporeal 
organ.  Light,  life,  and  joy,  flowed  into  their  minds 
through  surrounding  darkness,  and  blessed  them  with 
high  enjoyment  of  tranquil  thought  and  innocent  occu- 
pation. 

Solitude  teaches  us  to  think,  and  thoughts  become  the 
principal  spring  of  human  actions ;  for  the  actions  of 
men,  it  is  truly  said,  are,  nothing  more  than  their 
thoughts  embodied,  and  brought  into  substantial  exis- 
tence. The  mind,  therefore,  has  only  to  examine  with 
candor  and  impartiality  the  idea  which  it  feels  the 
greatest  inclination  to  pursue,  in  order  to  penetrate  and 
expound  the  mystery  of  the  human  character;  and  he 
who  has  not  been  accustomed  to  self-examination,  will 
upon  such  a  scrutiny,  frequently  discover  truths  of  ex- 
treme importance  to  his  happiness,  which  the  mists 
of  worldly  delusion  had  concealed  totally  from  his 
view. 

Liberty  and  leisure  are  all  that  an  active  mind  re- 
quires in  solitude.  The  moment  such  a  character  finds 
itself  alone,  all  the  energies  of  his  soul  put  themselves 
into  motion,  and  rise  to  a  height  incomparably  greater 
than  they  could  have  reached  under  the  impulse  of  a 
mind  clogged  and  oppressed  by  the  encumbrances  of 
society.  Even  plodding  authors,  who  only  endeavor  to 
improve  the  the  thoughts  of  others,  and  aim  not  at 
orig-inality  for  themselves,  derive  such  advantages  from 
solitude,  as  to  render  them  contented  with  their  hum- 
ble labors;  but  to  superior  minds,  how  exquisite  are 
the  pleasures  they  feel  when  solitude  inspires  the  idea 
and  facilitates  the  execution  of  works  of  virtue  and 
public  benefit!  works  which  constantly  irritate  the  pas- 
sions of  the  foolish,  and  confound  the  guilty  consciences 
of  the  wicked.  The  exuberance  of  a  fine  fertile  ima- 
gination is  chastened  by  the  surrounding  tranquility 
of  olitude :  all  its  diverging  rays  are  concentrated  to 
3 


86  INFLUENCE  OF  SOLITUDE 

one  certain  point ;  and  the  mind  exalted  to  such  pow- 
erful energy,  that  whenever  it  is  inclined  to  sin;* 
blow  becomes  tremendous  and  irresistible.  Conscious 
of  the  extent  and  force  of  his  powers,  a  character  thus 
collected  cannot  be  dismayed  by  legionsofadversaries ; 
and  he  waits,  with  judicious  circumspection,  to  render 
sooner  or  later,  complete  justice  to  the  enemies  of  vir- 
tue. The  profligacy  of  the  world,  where  vice  usurps 
the  seat  of  greatness,  hypocrisy  assumes  the  face  of  can- 
dor, and  prejudice  overpowers  the  voice  of  truth,  must, 
indeed,  sting  his  bosom  with  the  keenest  sensations  of 
mortification  and  regret;  but  cast  his  philosophic  eye 
over  the  disordered  scene,  he  will  separate  what  ought 
to  be  indulged  from  what  ought  not  to  be  endured  ; 
and  by  a  happy,  well-timed  stroke  of  satire  from  his  pen, 
will  destroy  the  bloom  of  vice,  disappoint  machinations 
of  hipocrisy,  and  expose  the  the  fallacies  on  which  pre- 
judice is  founded. 

Truth  unfolds  her  charms  in  solitude  with  superior 
splendor.  A  great  and  good  man  ;  Dr.  Blair,  of  Edin- 
burgh, says,  "  The  great  and  the  worthy,  the  pious 
and  the  virtuous,  have  ever  been  addicted  to  serious  re- 
tirement. It  is  the  characteristic  of  little  and  frivolous 
minds  to  be  wholly  occupied  with  the  vulgar  objects 
of  life.  These  fill  up  their  desires,  and  supply  all  the 
entertainment  which  their  coarse  apprehensions  can  re- 
lish. But  a  more  refined  and  enlarged  mind  leaves 
the  world  behind  it,  feels  a  call  for  higher  pleasures, 
and  seeks  them  in  retreat.  The  man  of  public  spirit  lias 
recourse  to  it  in  order  to  reform  plans  for  general  good  ; 
the  man  of  genius  in  order  to  dwell  on  his  favorite 
themes;  the  philosopher  to  pursue  his  discoveries  ;  and 
the  saint  to  improve  himself  in  grace." 

Numa,  the  legislator  of  Rome,  while  he  was  only  a 
nrivate  individual,  retired  on  the  death  of  Tatia,  hi?  be- 
loved wife,  into  the  deep  forests  of  Aricia  and  wander- 
ed in  solitary  musings  through  the  thickest  groves  and 
most  sequestered  shades.  Superstition  imputed  his  lone- 
ly propensity,  not  to  disappointment,  discontent,  or  ha- 
tred to  mankind,  but  to  a  higher  cause :  a  wish  silently 
to  communicate  with  some  protecting  deity.  A  rumor 
was  circulated  that  the  goddess  Egeria,  captivated  by 
his  virtues,  had  united  herself  to  him  in  the  sacred  bonds 
of  love,  and  by  enlightening  his  mind,  and  storingit  with 
superior  wisdom,  had  led  him  to  divine  felicity.  The 
Druids  also,  who  dwelt  among  the  rocks,  in  the  woods, 


UPON  THE  MIND.  27 

and  in  the  most  solitary  places,  are  supposed  to  have 
instructed  the  infant  nobility  of  their  respective  nations 
in  wisdom  and  in  eloquence,  in  the  phenomena  of  na- 
ture, in  astronomy,  in  the  precepts  of  religion,  and  the 
mysteries  of  eternity.  The  profound  wisaom  thus  be- 
stowed on  the  characters  of  the  Druids,  although  it 
was,  like  the  story  of  Numa,  the  mere  effects  of 
imagination,  discovers  with  what  enthusiasm  every 
a^e  and  country  have  revered  those  venerable  charac- 
ters who  in  the  silence  of  the  groves,  and  in  the  tran- 
quillity of  solitude,  have  devoted  their  time  and  talents 
to  the  improvement  of  the  human  mind,  and  the  re- 
formation of  the  species. 

'  Genius  frequently  brings  forth  its  finest  fruit  in  soli- 
tude, merely  by  the  exertion  of  its  own  intrinsic  pow- 
ers, unaided  by  the  patronage  of  the  great,  the  adulation 
of  the  multitude,  or  the  hope  of  mercenary  reward. 
Flanders,  amidst  all  the  horrors  of  civil  discord,  produc- 
ed painters  as  rich  in  fame  as  they  were  poor  in  circum- 
stances. The  celebrated  Correggio  had  so  seldom 
been  rewarded  during  his  life,  that  the  paltry  payment 
often  pistoles  of  German  coin,  and  which  he  was  obli- 
ged to  travel  as  far  as  Parma,  to  recieve,  created  in  his 
mind  a  joy  so  excessive,  that  it  caused  his  death.  The 
self-approbation  of  conscious  merit  was  the  only  recom- 
pense these  great  artists  recieved ;  they  painted  with 
the  h9pe  of  immortal  fame ;  and  posterity  has  done 
them  justice. 

Profound  meditation  in  solitude  and  silence  frequent- 
ly exalts  the  mind  above  its  natural  lone,  fires  the  im- 
aidnation,  and  produces  the  most  refined  and  sublime 
conceptions.  The  soul  then  tastes  the  purest  and  most 
refined  delight,  and  almost  loses  the  idea  of  existence 
in  the  intellectual  pleasure  it  recieves.  The  mind  on 
every  motion  darts  through  space  into  eternity ;  and 
raised,  in  his  free  enjoyment  of  its  powers  by  its  own 
enthusiasm,  strengthens  itself  in  the  habitude  of  con- 
templating the  noolest  subjects,  and  of  adopting  the 
most  heroic  pursuits.  It  was  in  a  solitary  retreat, 
amidst  the  shades  of  a  lofty  mountain  near  Byrmont, 
that  the  foundation  of  one  of  the  most  extraordinary 
achievements  of  the  present  age  was  laid.  The  kins 
of  Prussia,  while  on  a  visit  to  Spa,  withdrew  himself 
from  the  company,  and  walked  in  silent  solitude 
amongst  the  most  sequestered  groves  of  this  beautiful 
mountain,  then  adorned  in  all  the  rude  luxuriance  of 


28  INFLUENCE  OF  SOLITUDE 

nature,  and  to  this  day  distinguished  by  the  appellation 
of  "  The  Royal  Mountain.*  On  this  uninhabited 
spot,  since  become  the  seat  of  dissipation,  the  youthful 
monarch,  rt  is  said  first  formed  the  plan  of  conquering 
Silesia. 

Solitude  teaches  with  the  happiest  effect  the  import- 
ant value  of  time,  of  which  the  indolent,  having  no 
conception,  can  form  no  estimate.  A  man  who  is  ar- 
dently bent  on  employment,  who  is  anxious  not  to 
live  entirely  in  vain,  never  observes  the  rapid  move- 
ments of  a  stop  watch,  the  true  image  of  transitory 
life,  and  most  striking  emblem  of  the  flight  of 
time,  without  alarm  and  apprehension.  Social  in- 
tercourse, when  it  tends  to  keep  the  mind  and 
heart  in  a  proper  tone,  when  it  contributes  to  enlarge 
the  sphere  of  knowledge,  or  to  banish  corroding  care, 
cannot,  indeed,  be  considered  a  sacrifice  of  time. 
But  where  social  intercourse,  even  when  attended  with 
these  happy  effects  engages  all  our  attention,  turns  the 
calmness  of  friendship  into  violence  of  love,  transforms 
hours  into  minutes,  and  drives  away  all  ideas,  except 
those  which  the  object  of  our  affection  inspires,  year 
after  year  will  roll  unimproved  away.  Time  properly 
employed  never  appears  tedious  5  on  the  contrary,  to 
him  who  is  engaged  in  usefully  discharging  the  duties 
of  his  station,  according  to  the  best  of  his  ability,  it 
is  light,  and  pleasantly  transitory. 

A  certain  young  prince,  by  the  assistance  of  a  num- 
ber of  domestics,  seldom  employs  above  five  or  six  min- 
utes in  dressing.  Of  his  carriage  it  would  be  incorrect 
to  say  he  goes  in  it ;  for  it  flies.  His  table  is  superb  and 
hospitable,  but  the  pleasures  of  it  are  short  and  frugal. 
Princes,  indeed,  seem  disposed  to  do  every  thing  with 
rapidity.  This  royal  youth  who  possesses  extraordi- 
nary talents,  and  uncommon  dignity  of  character, 
attends  in  his  own  person  to  every  application,  and  af- 
fords satisfaction  and  delight  in  every  interview.  His 
domestic  establishment  engages  his  most  scrupulous 
attention ;  and  he  employs  seven  hours  every  day  with- 
out exception,  throughout  the  year,  in  reading  the  best 
English,  Italian,  French,  and  German  authors.  It 
may  therefore  be  truly  said,  that  this  prince  is  well  ac- 
quainted with  the  value  of  time. 

The  hours  which  a  man  of  the  world  throws  idly 
away,  are  in  solitude  disposed  of  with  profitable  pleas- 

*  Hosnigsberg. 


UPON  THE  MIND.  29 

ure;  and  no  pleasure  can  be  more  profitable  than  that 
which  results  from  the  judicious  use  of  time.  Men 
have  many  duties  to  perform :  he,  therefore,  who  wish- 
es to  discharge  them  honorably,  will  vigilantly  sieze  the 
earliest  opportunity,  if  he  does  not  wish  that  any  part  of 
the  passing  moments  should  be  torn  like  a  useless  page 
from  the  oook  of  life.  Useful  employment  stops  the 
career  of  time,  and  prolongs  our  existence.  To  think 
and  to  work,  is  to  live.  Our  ideas  never  flow  with 
more  rapidity  and  abundance,  or  with  greater  gayety, 
than  in  those  hours  which  useful  labor  steals  from  idle- 
ness and  dissipation.  To  employ  our  time  with  eco- 
nomy, we  should  frequently  reflect  how  many  hours  es- 
cape from  us  against  our  inclination.  A  celebrated 
English  author  says,  "  When  we  have  deducted  all 
that  is  absorbed  in  sleep,  all  that  is  inevitably  appro- 
priated to  the  demands  of  nature,  or  irresistably  en- 
grossed by  the  tyranny  of  custom ;  all  that  is  passed  in 
regulatins  the  superficial  decorations  of  life,  or  is  giv- 
en up  in  the  reciprocation  of  civility  to  the  disposal  of 
others  ;  all  that  is  torn  from  us  by  the  violence  of  dis- 
ease, or  stolen  imperceptibility  away  by  lassitude  and 
langor  ;  we  shall  find  that  part  of  our  duration  very 
small  of  which  we  can  truly  call  ourselves  masters,  or 
which  we  can  spejid  wholly  at  our  own  choice.  Many 
of  our  hours  are  lost  in  a  rotation  of  petty  cares,  in  a 
constant  recurrence  of  the  same  employments,  many  of 
our  provisions  for  ease  or  happiness  are  always  exhaust- 
ed by  the  present  day,  and  a  great  part  of  our  existence 
serves  no  other  purpose  than  that  of  enabling  us  to  en- 
joy the  rest. 

Time  is  never  more  mispent  than  while  we  declaim 
against  the  want  of  it ;  all  our  actions  are  then  tinc- 
tured with  peevishness.  The  yoke  of  life  is  certainly  the 
least  oppressive  when  we  carry  it  with  good  humor; 
and  in  the  shades  of  rural  retirement,  when  we  have 
once  acquired  a  resolution  to  pass  our  hours  with 
economy,  sorrowful  lamentations  on  the  subject  of 
time  mispent,  and  business  neglected,  never  torture  the 
mind. 

Solitude,  indeed,  may  prove  more  dangerous  than  all 
the  dissipation  of  the  world,  if  the  mind  be  not  properly 
employed.  Every  man,  from  the  monarch  on  the  throne 
to  the  peasant  in  the  cottaare,  should  have  a  daily 
task,  which  he  should  feel  it  his  duty  to  perform  with- 
out delay.  "  Carpe  diem,"  says  Horace;  and  this  re- 
3* 


30  mFUJBNCE  OP  SOLITODB 

commendation  will  extend  with  equal  propriety  to 
every  hour  of  our  lives. 

The  voluptuous  of  every  description,  the  votaries  of 
Bacchus  and  the  sons  of  Anacreon,  exhort  us  to  drive 
away  corroding  care,  to  promote  incessant  gaiety,  and 
to  enjoy  the  fleeting  hours  as  they  pass ;  and  these  pre- 
cepts, when  rightly  understood,  and  properly  applied. 
are  founded  in  strong  sense  and  sound  reason ;  but 
they  must  not  be  understood  or  applied  in  the  way 
these  sensualists  advise ;  they  must  not  be  consumed 
in  drinking  and  debauchery;  but  employed  in  steadily 
advancing  toward  the  accomplishment  of  the  task 
which  our  respective  duties  require  us  to  perform. 
"If."  says  Petrarch,  "you feel  any  inclination  to  serve 
God.  in  which  consists  the  highest  felicities  of  our  na- 
ture ;  if  you  are  disposed  to  elevate  the  mind  by  the 
study  of  letters,  which,  next  to  religion,  procures  us 
the  truest  pleasures ;  if  by  your  sentiments  and  wri- 
tings, you  are  anxious  to  leave  behind  you  something 
that  will  memorize  your  name  with  posterity;  stop  the 
rapid  progress  of  time,  and  prolong  the  course  of  this 
uncertain  life — fly,  ah  ;  fly,  I  beseech  you,  from  llie 
enjoyment  of  the  world,  and  pass  the  few  remaining 
davs  you  have  to  live  in. ...Solitude." 

Solitude  refines  the  taste,  by  affording  the  mind 
greater  opportunities  to  call  ana  select  the  beauties  of 
those  objects  which  engage  its  attention.  There  it  de- 
pends entirely  upon  ourselves  to  make  choice  of  those 
emplovments  which  afford  the  highest  pleasure ;  to 
read  those  writings,  and  to  encourage  those  reflec- 
tions which  tend  mostly  to  purify  the  mind,  and  store  it 
with  the  richest  variety  of  images.  The  false  notions 
which  we  so  easily  acquire  in  the  world,  by  relying  up- 
on the  sentiments  of  others,  instead  of  consulting  our 
own.  are  in  solitude  easily  avoided.  To  be  obliged 
constantly  to  say,  "  I  dare  not  think  otherwise,"  is  in- 
supportable. Why,  alas !  will  not  men  strive  to  form 
opinions  of  their  own,  rather  than  submit  to  be  guided 
by  the  arbitrary  dictates  of  others?  If  a  work  please 
me,  of  what  importance  is  it  to  me  whether  the  beau 
monde  approve  of  it  or  not? — What  information  do  I 
receive  from  you,  ye  cold  and  miserable  critics  ? — Does 
your  approbation  make  me  feel  whatever  is  truly  noble, 
great  and  good,  with  higher  relish  or  more  refined 
delight  ?— How  can  I  submit  to  the  judgment  of  men 
who  always  examine  hastily,  and  generally  determine 
wrong  1 


TJPON  THE  MIND.  31 

Men  of  enlightened  minds,  who  are  capable  of  cor- 
rectly distinguishing  beauties  from  defects,  whose 
bosoms  feel  the  highest  pleasure  from  the  works  of 
genius,  and  the  severest  pain  from  dullness  and  depra- 
vity, while  they  admire  with  enthusiasm,  condemn 
with  judgment  and  deliberation  j  and,  retiring  from 
the  vulgar  herd,  either  alone  or  m  the  society  of  se- 
lected friends,  resign  themselves  to  the  delights  of  a 
tranquil  intercourse  with  the  illustrious  sages  of  an- 
tiquity, and  with  those  writers  who  have  distinguished 
and  adorned  succeeding  times. 

Solitude,  by  enlarging  the  sphere  of  its  information, 
by  awakening  a  more  lively  curiosity,  by  relieving  fa- 
tigue, and  by  promoting  application,  renders  the  mind 
more  active,  and  multiplies  the  number  of  its  ideas.  A 
man  who  is  well  acquainted  with  all  these  advantages, 
has  said,  that,  "by  silent,  solitary  reflection,  we  exer- 
cise and  strengthen  all  the  powers  of  the  mind.  The 
many  obstacles  which  render  it  difficult  to  pursue  our 
path  disperse  and  retire,  and  we  return  to  a  busy,  social 
life,  with  more  cheerfulness  and  content.  The  sphere 
of  our  understanding  becomes  enlarged  by  reflection: 
we  have  learned  to  survey  more  objects,  and  to  behold 
them  more  intellectually  together ;  we  carry  a  clearer 
sight,  a  juster  judgment,  and  firmer  principles  with  us 
into  the  world  in  which  we  are  to  live  and  act ;  and 
are  then  more  able,  even  in  the  midst  of  all  its  distrac- 
tions, to  preserve  our  attention,  to  think  with  accuracy, 
to  determine  with  judgment,  in  a  degree  proportioned 
to  the  preparations  we  have  made  in  the  hours  of  re- 
tirement." Alas !  in  the  ordinary  commerce  of  the 
world,  the  curiosity  of  a  rational  mind  soon  decays, 
whilst  in  solitude  it  hourly  augments.  The  researches 
of  a  finite  being  necessarily  proceed  by  slow  degrees. 
The  mind  links  one  pro[)osition  to  another,  joins  expe- 
rience with  observation,  and  from  the  discovery  of  one 
truth  proceeds  in  search  of  others.  The  astronomers 
who  first  observed  the  course  of  the  planets,  little 
imagined  hovy  important  their  discoveries  would  prove 
to  the  future  interests  and  happiness  of  mankind.  At- 
tached by  the  spangled  splendor  of  the  firmament,  and 
observing  that  the'stars  nightly  changed  their  course, 
curiosity  induced  them  to  explore  the  cause  of  this 
phenomenon,  and  led  them  to  pursue  the  road  of  sci- 
ence. It  is  thus  that  the  soul,  by  silent  activity,  aug- 
ments its  powers ;  and  a  contemplative  mind  advances 


3g.  INFLUENCE  OP  SOLITCDB 

in  knowledge  in  proportion  as  it  investigates  the  vari- 
ous causes,  the  immediate  effects,  and  tiie  remote  con- 
sequences of  an  established  truth.  Reason,  indeed,  by 
impeding  the  wings  of  the  imagination,  renders  her 
flight  less  rapid,  but  it  makes  the  object  of  attainment 
more  sure.  Drawn  aside  by  the  charms  of  fancy,  the 
mind  may  construct  new  worlds :  but  they  immediately 
burst,  like  airy  bubbles  formed  of  soap  and  water; 
while  reason  examines  the  materials  of  its  projected 
fabric,  and  uses  those  only  which  are  durable  and 
good. 

"  The  great  art  to  learn  much,"  says  Locke,  "  ivto 
undertake  a  little  at  a  time."  Dr.  Johnson,  the  cele- 
brated English  writer,  has  very  forcibly  observed,  that 
"  all  the  performances  of  human  art,  at  which  we  look 
with  praise  or  wonder,  are  instances  of  the  resistless 
force  of  perseverance :  it  is  by  this  that  the  quarry  be- 
comes a  pyramid,  and  that  distant  countries  are  united 
by  canals.  If  a  man  was  to  compare  the  effect  of  a 
single  stroke  with  the  pick-axe,  or  of  one  impression 
of  a  spade,  with  the  general  design  and  last  result,  he 
would  be  overwhelmed  with  the  sense  of  their  dispro- 
portion ;  yet  those  petty  operations,  incessantly  contin- 
ued, in  time  surmount  the  greatest  difficulties  ;  and 
mountains  are  levelled,  and  oceans  bounded  by  the 
slender  force  of  human  beings.  It  is  therefore  of  the 
utmost  importance  that  those  who  have  any  intenti9n 
of  deviating  from  the  beaten  roads  of  life,  and  acquir- 
ing a  reputation  superior  to  names  hourly  swept  away 
by  time  among  the  refuse  of  fame,  should  add  to  their 
reason  and  their  spirit  the  power  of  persisting  in  their 
purposes ;  acquire  the  art  of  sapping  what  they  cannot 
batter ;  and  the  habit  of  vanquishing  obstinate  resist- 
ance by  obstinate  attacks." 

It  is  activity  of  mind  that  gives  life  to  the  most 
dreary  desert,  converts  the  solitary  cell  into  a  social 
world,  gives  immortal  fame  to  genius,  and  produces 
master-pieces  of  ingenuity  to  the  artist.  The  mind 
feels  a  pleasure  in  the  exercise  of  its  powers  propor- 
tioned to  the  difficulties  it  meets  with,  and  the  obsta- 
cles it  has  to  surmount.  When  Apelles  was  reproached 
for  having  painted  so  few  pictures,  and  for  the  inces- 
sant anxiety  with  which  he  retouched  his  works,  he 
contented  himself  with  this  observation,  "I paint  for 
posterity." 

The  inactivity  of  monastic  solitude,  the  sterile  tran- 


DPON  THE  MIND.  33 

quillity  of  the  cloister,  are  ill  suited  to  those  who,  after 
a  serious  preparation  in  retirement,  and  an  assiduous 
examination  of  their  own  powers,  feel  a  capacity  and 
inclination  to  perform  great  and  good  actions  for  the 
benefit  of  mankind.  Princes  cannot  live  the  lives  of 
monks ;  statesmen  are  no  longer  sought  for  in  monas- 
teries and  convents ;  generals  are  no  longer  chosen 
from  the  members  of  the  church.  Petrarch,  therefore, 
very  pertinently  observes,  "  that  solitude  must  not  be 
inactive,  nor  leisure  uselessly  employed.  A  character 
indolent,  slothful,  languid,  and  detached  from  the  af- 
fairs of  life,  must  infallibly  become  melancholy  and 
miserable.  From  such  a  being  no  good  can  be  ex- 
pected ;  he  cannot  pursue  any  useful  science,  or  possess 
the  faculties  of  a  great  man. 

The  rich  and  luxurious  may  claim  an  exclusive  right 
to  those  pleasures  which  are  capable  of  being  purchased 
by  pelf,  in  which  the  mind  has  no  enjoyment,  and  which 
only  afford  a  temporary  relief  to  langor,  by  steeping 
the  senses  in  forgetfulness ;  but  in  the  precious  plea- 
sures of  intellect,  so  easily  accessible  by  all  mankind, 
the  great  have  no  exclusive  privilege ;  for  such  enjoy- 
ments are  only  to  be  procured  by  our  own  industry,  by 
serious  reflection,  profound  thought,  and  deep  research: 
exertions  which  open  hidden  qualities  to  the  mind,  ana 
lead  it  to  the  knowledge  of  truth,  and  to  the  contem- 
plation of  our  physical  and  moral  nature. 

A  Swiss  preacher  has  in  a  German  pulpit  said,  "  The 
streams  of  mental  pleasures,  of  which  all  men  may 
equally  partake,  flow  from  one  to  the  other ;  and  that 
of  which  we  have  most  frequently  tasted,  loses  neither 
its  flavor  nor  its  virtues,  but  frequently  acquires  new 
charms,  and  conveys  additional  pleasure  the  oftener  it 
is  tasted.  The  subjects  of  these  pleasures  are  as  un- 
bounded as  the  reign  of  truth,  as  extensive  as  the 
world,  as  unlimited  as  the  divine  perfections.  Incor- 
poreal pleasures,  therefore,  are  much  more  durable 
than  all  others ;  they  neither  disappear  with  the  light 
of  the  day,  change  with  the  external  form  of  things, 
nor  descend  with  our  bodies  to  the  tomb  ;  but  continue 
with  us  while  we  exist;  accompany  us  under  all  the 
vicissitudes  not  only  of  our  natural  life,  but  of  that 
which  is  to  come ;  secure  us  in  the  darkness  of  the 
night,  and  compensate  for  all  the  miseries  we  are 
doomed  to  suffer." 

Great  and  exalted  minds,  therefore,  have  always, 


34  IN FLCENCE  OP  SOLITUDE 

even  in  the  bustle  of  gaiety,  or  amidst  the  more  agita- 
ted career  of  high  ambition,  preserved  a  taste  for  inu  1- 
lectual  pleasures.  Engaged  in  affairs  of  the  most  im- 
portant consequence,  notwithstanding  the  variety  of 
objects  by  which  their  attention  was  distracted,  they 
were  still  faithful  to  the  muses,  and  fondly  devoted 
their  minds  to  works  of  genius.  They  disregarded  the 
false  notion,  that  reading  and  knowledge  are  useless 
to  great  men ;  and  frequently  condescended,  without  a 
blush,  to  become  writers  themselves. 

Philip  of  Macedon.  having  invited  Dionysius  the 
younger  to  dine  with  him  at  Corinth,  attempted  to  de- 
ride the  father  of  his  royal  guest,  because  he  had  blend- 
ed the  characters  of  prince  and  poet,  and  had  employed 
his  leisure  in  writing  odes  and  tragedies.  "  How  could 
the  king  find  leisure,"  said  Philip,  "  to  write  those  tri- 
tles  ?"  "  In  those  hours,"  answered  Dionysius, "  which 
you  and  I  spend  in  drunkenness  and  debauchery." 

Alexander  who  was  passionately  fond  of  reading  and 
whilst  the  world  resounded  with  his  victories,  whilst 
blood  and  carnage  marked  his  progress,  whilst  he 
dragged  captive  monarchs  at  his  chariot  wheels,  and 
marched  with  increasing  ardor  over  smoking  towns 
and  desolated  provinces  in  search  of  new  objects  of 
victory,  felt  during  certain  intervals,  the  langors  of 
unemployed  time;  and  lamenting  that  Asia  afforded 
no  books  to  amuse  his  leisure,  he  wrote  to  Harpalus  to 
send  him  the  works  of  Philistus,  the  tragedies  of  Eu- 
i  nides,  Sophocles,  ^Eschylus,  and  the  dithyrambics  of 
'i  halestes. 

Brutus,  the  avenger  of  the  violated  liberties  of  Rome, 
while  serving  in  the  army  under  Pompey,  employed 
among  books  all  the  moments  he  could  spare  from  the 
duties  of  his  station:  and  was  even  thus  employed  du- 
ring the  awful  night  which  preceded  the  celebrated 
battle  of  Pharsalia,  by  which  the  fate  of  the  empire  was 
decided.  Oppressed  by  the  excessive  heat  of  the  day, 
and  by  the  preparatory  arrangement  of  the  arm"\\ 
which  was  encamped  in  the  middle  of  summer  on  a 
marshy  plain,  he  sought  relief  from  the  bath,  and  re- 
tired to  his  tent,  where,  whilst  others  were  locked  in 
the  arms  of  sleep,  or  contemplating  the  event  of  the 
ensuing  day.  he  employed  himself  until  the  morning- 
dawned,  in  drawing  a  plan  from  the  History  of  Poly- 
1  ins. 

Cicero,  who  was  more  sensible  of  mental  pleasures 


CPON  THE  MIND.  35 

than  any  other  character,  says,  in  his  oration  for  (he 
poet  Archias,  "  Why  should  I  he  ashamed  to  acknow- 
ledge pleasures  like  these,  since  for  so  many  years  the 
enjoyment  of  them  has  never  prevented  me  from  reliev- 
ing the  wants  of  others,  or  deprived  me  of  the  courage 
to  attack  vice  and  defend  virtue?  Who  can  justly 
blame,  who  can  censure  me,  if,  while  others  are  pursu- 
ing the  views  of  interest,  gazing  at  festal  shows  and 
idle  ceremonies,  exploring  new  pleasures,  engaged  in 
midnight  revels,  in  the  distraction  of  gaming,  the  mad- 
ness of  intemperance,  neither  reposing  the  body,  nor 
recreating  the  mind,  I  spend  the  recoflective  hours  in 
a  pleasing  review  of  my  past  life,  in  dedicating  my 
Hint1  to  learning  and  the  muses?" 

Pliny  the  elder,  full  of  the  same  spirit  devoted  every 
moment  of  his  life  to  learning.  A  person  read  to  him 
during  his  meals:  and  he  never  travelled  without  a 
book  and  a  portable  writing-desk  by  his  side.  He  made 
extracts  from  every  work  he  read:  and  scarcely  con- 
ceiving himself  alive  while  his  faculties  were  absorbed 
in  sleep,  endeavored  by  his  diligence,  to  double  the  du- 
ration of  his  existence. 

Pliny  the  younger,  read  upon  all  occasions,  whether 
riding,  walking,  or  sitting,  whenever  a  moment's  lei- 
sure afforded  him  the  opportunity  ;  but  he  made  it  an 
invariable  rule  to  prefer  the  discharge  of  the  duties  of 
his  station  to  those  occupations  which  he  followed  only 
as  amusement.  It  was  this  disposition  which  so  strong- 
ly inclined  him  to  solitude  and  retirement.  "  Shall  I 
never,"  exclaimed  he  in  moments  of  vexation,  "break 
the  fetters  by  which  I  am  restrained  ?  Are  they  indis- 
soluble? Alas!  I  have  no  hope  of  being  gratified- 
every  day  brings  new  torments.  No  sooner  is  one  du- 
ty performed  than  another  succeeds.  The  chains  of 
business  become  every  hour  more  weighty  and  exten- 
sive." 

The  mind  of  Petrarch  was  always  gloomy  and  de- 
jected, except  when  he  was  reading,  writing,  or  resign- 
ed to  the  agreeable  illusions  of  poetry,  upon  the  banks 
of  some  inspiring  stream,  among  the  romantic  rocks 
and  mountains,  or  the  flower-enamelled  vallies  of  the 
Alps.  To  avoid  the  loss  of  time  during  his  travels,  he 
(•(instantly  wrote  at  every  inn  where  he  stopped  for  re- 
freshment. One  of  liis  friends,  the  bishop  of  Cavaillon, 
being  alarmed  lest  the  intense  application  with  which 
he  studied  at  Vaucluse  might  totallyTiiin  a  constitution 


36  INFLUENCE  OF  SOLITUDE 

already  much  impaired,  requested  of  him  one  day  ths 
key  of  his  library.  Petrarch  immediately  cave  it  him 
without  asking  the  reason  of  his  request ;  when  ths 
g-ood  bishopj  instantly  locking  up  his  books  and  wri- 
ting-desk, said,  "Petrarch,  I  hereby  interdict  you  from 
the  use  of  pen,  ink,  and  paper,  for  the  space  of  ten 
days."  The  sentence  was  severe ;  but  the  offender  sup- 
pressed his  feelings,  and  submitted  to  his  fate.  The 
first  day  of  his  exile  from  his  favorite  pursuits  was  te- 
dious, the  second  accompanied  with  incessant  head- 
ach,  and  the  third  brought  on  symptoms  of  an  approach- 
ing fever.  The  bishop,  observing  his  indisposition, 
kindly  returned  him  the  key,  and  restored  him  to  his 
health. 

The  late  earl  of  Chatham,  on  his  entering  into  the 
world,  was  a  cornet  in  a  troop  of  horse  dragoons.  The 
regiment  was  quartered  in  a  small  village  in  England. 
The  duties  of  his  station  were  the  first  objects  of  his 
attention  ;  but  the  moment  these  were  discharged,  he 
retired  into  solitude  during  the  remainder  of  the  day, 
and  devoted  his  mind  to  the  study  of  history.  Subject 
from  his  infancy  to  an  hereditary  gout,  he  endeavored 
to  eradicate  it  by  regularity  and  abstinence ;  and  per- 
haps it  was  the  feeble  state  of  his  health  which  first  led 
him  into  retirement;  but,  however  that  may  be,  it  was 
certainly  in  retirement  that  he  had  laid  the  foundation 
of  that  glory  which  he  afterwards  acquired.  Charac- 
ters of  this  description,  it  may  be  said,  are  no  longer  to 
be  found ;  but  in  my  opinion  both  the  idea  and  asser- 
tion would  be  erroneous.  Was  the  earl  of  Chatham 
inferior  in  greatness  to  a  Roman  1  And  will  his  son, 
who  already  vin  the  earliest  stage  of  manhood,  thunders 
forth  his  eloquence  in  the  senate,  like  Demosthenes, 
and  captivates  like  Pericles  the  hearts  of  all  who  hear 
him:  who  is  now,  even  in  the  five-and-twentieth  year 
of  his  age,  dreaded  abroad,  and  beloved  at  home,  as 
prime  minister  of  the  British  empire ;  ever  think,  or 
act  under  any  circumstances  with  less  greatness,  than 
his  illustrious  father?  What  men  have  been,  manmay 
always  be.  Europe  now  produces  characters  as  great 
as  ever  adorned  a  throne  or  commanded  a  field.  VVis- 
dom  and  virtue  may  exist,  by  proper  cultivation, 
as  well  in  public  as  in  private  life;  and  become  as  per- 
fect in  a  cro\vded  palace  as  in  a  solitary  cottage. 

Solitude  will  ultimately  render  the  mind  superior  to 
all  the  vicissitudes  and  miseries  of  life.  The  man 


UPON   fHE   Ml.ND.  J$ 

whose  bosom  neither  riches,  nor  luxury, 'nor  grandeur1 
can  render  happy,  may,  with  a  book  in  his  hand,  forget 
all  his  torments  under  the  friendly  shade  of  every  tree, 
and  experience  pleasures  as  infinite  as  they  are  varied, 
as  pure  as  they  are  lasting,  as  lively  as  they  are  unfa- 
ding, and  as  compatible  with  every  public  duty  as  they 
are  contributory  to  private  happiness.  The  highest 
public  duty,  indeed,  is  that  of  employing  our  faculties 
for  the  benefit  of  mankind,  and  can  no  where  be  so  ad- 
vantageously discharged  as  in  solitude.  To  acquire  a 
true  notion  of  men  and  things,  and  boldly  to  announce 
our  opinions  to  the  world,  is  an  indispensible  obligation 
on  every  individual.  The  press  is  the  channel  through 
which  writers  diffuse  the  light  of  truth  among  the  peo- 
ple, and  display  its  radiance  to  the  eyes  of  the  great. 
Good  writers  inspire  the  mind  with  courage  to  think 
for  itself;  and  the  free  communication  of  sentiments 
contributes  to  the  improvement  and  imperfection  of 
human  reason.  It  is  this  love  of  liberty  mat  kads  metf 
into  solitude,  where  they  may  throw  off  the  chains  by 
^yhich  they  are  fettered  in  the  world.  It  is  this  dispo- 
sition to  be  free,  that  makes  the  man  who  thinks  in  so- 
litude, boldly  speak  a  language  which,  in  the  corrupted 
intercourse  of  society,  he  would  not  have  dared  openly 
to  hazard.  Courage  is  the  companion  of  solitude.  The 
man  who  does  not  fear  to  seek  his  comforts  in  the 
peaceful  shades  of  retirement,  looks  with  firmness  on 
the  pride  and  insolence  of  the  great,  and  tears  from  the 
fare  of  despotism  the  mask  by  which  it  is  concealed. 

His  mina,  enriched  by  knowedge.  may  defy  the 
frowns  of  fortune,  and  see  unmoveof  the  various  vicis- 
situdes of  life.  When  Demetrius  had  captured  the  city 
of  Megara.  and  the  property  of  the  inhabitants  bad 
been  erftirefy  pillaged  by  the  soldiers,  he  recollected 
that  Stilpo,  a  philosopher  of  great  reputation,  who 
sought  only  the  retirement  and  tranquility  of  a  studious 
life,  was  among  the  number.  Having  sent  fof  Mm, 
Demetrius  asked  him  if  he  had  lost  any  thing  during 
the  pillage?  "No,"  replied  the  philosopher,  "my  pro- 
perty is  safe,  for  it  exists  only  in  my  mind." 

Solitude  encourages  the  disclosure  of  those  senti- 
ments and  feelings  which  the  manners  of  the  world 
compel  us  to  conceal.  The  mind  there  unburthens  it- 
self with  ease  and  freedom.  The  pen,  indeed,  is  not 
always  taken  up  because  we  are  alone ;  but  if  we  are 
inclined  to-  wrrfe,  we  oiight  to  be  alone.  To  cultivate 


38  INFLUENCE  OF  SOLITUDE 

philosophy,  or  court  the  muse  with  effect,  the  mind 
must  be  free  from  all  embarrassment.  The  incessant 
cries  of  children,  or  the  frequent  intrusion  of  strvams 
with  messages  of  ceremony  and  cards  of  compliment, 
distract  attention.  An  author,  whether  walking  in  the 
open  air,  seated  in  his  closet,  reclined  under  the  shade 
of  a  spreading  tree,  or  stretched  upon  a  sofa,  must  be 
free  to  follow  all  the  impulses  of  his  mind,  and  indulge 
every  bent  and  turn  of  his  genius.  To  compose  with 
success,  he  must  feel  an  irresistible  inclination,  and 
be  able  to  indulge  his  sentiments  and  emotions  with- 
out obstacle  or  restraint.  There  are,  indeed,  minds 
possessed  of  a  divine  inspiration,  which  is  capable  of 
subduing  every  difficulty,  and  bearing  down  all  oppo- 
sition :  and  an  author  should  suspend  his  work  until 
he  feels  this  secret  call  within  his  bosom,  and  watch 
for  those  propitious  moments  when  the  mind  pours 
forth  its  ideas  with  energy,  and  the  heart  feels  the  sub 
ject  with  increasing  warmth ;  for 

" Nature's  kindling  breath 

Must  fire  the  chosen  genius  ;  Nature's  hand 
Must  string  his  nerves  and  imp  his  eagle  wings 
Impatient  of  the  painful  steep,  to  soar 
High  as  the  summit ;  there  to  breath  at  large 
Etherial  air,  with  bards  and  sages  old, 
Immortal  sons  of  praise " 

Petrarch  felt  this  sacred  impulse  when  he  tore  him- 
self from  Avignon,  the  most  vicious  and  corrupted 
city  of  the  age,  to  which  the  pope  had  recently  trans- 
ferred the  papal  chair ;  and  although  still  young,  noble, 
ardent,  honored  by  his  holiness,  respected  by  princes, 
courted  by  cardinals,  he  voluntarily  quitted  the  splen- 
did tumults  of  this  brilliant  court,  and  retired  to  the 
celebrated  solitude  of  Vaucluse,  at  the  distance  of  six 
leagues  from  Avignon,  with  only  one  servant  to  attend 
him,  and  no  other  possession  than  an  humble  cottage 
and  its  surrounding  garden.  Charmed  with  the  natu- 
ral beauties  of  this  rural  retreat,  he  adorned  it  with  an 
excellent  library,  and  dwelt,  for  many  years,  in  wise 
tranquillity  and  rational  repose,  employing  his  leisure 
in  completing  and  polishing  his  works:  and  producing 
more  original  compositions  during  this  period  than  at 
any  other  of  his  life.  But,  although  he  here  devoted 
much  time  and  attention  to  his  writings,  it  was  long 
before  he  could  be  persuaded  to  make  them  public. 


tJPON  THE  MIND.  39 

Virgil  calls  the  leisure  he  enjoyed  at  Naples,  ignoble 
and  obscure;  but  it  was  during  this  leisure  that  he 
wrote  the  Georgics,  the  most  perfect  of  all  his  works, 
and  which  evince,  in  almost  every  line,  that  he  wrote 
for  immortality. 

The  suffrage  of  posterity,  indeed,  is  a  noble  expec- 
tation, which  every  excellent  and  great  writer  cher- 
ishes with  enthusiasm.  An  inferior  mind  contents 
itself  with  a  more  humble  recompense,  and  sometimes 
obtains  its  due  reward.  But  writers  both  great  and 
good,  must  withdraw  from  the  interruptions  of  socie- 
ty, and  seeking  the  silence  of  the  groves,  and  the  shades, 
retire  into  their  own  minds:  for  every  thing  they  per- 
form, all  that  they  produce,  is  the  effect  of  solitude. 
To  accomplish  a  work  capable  of  existing  through  fu- 
ture ages,  or  deserving  the  approbation  of  contempo- 
rary sages,  the  love  of  solitude  must  entirely  occupy 
their  souls ;  for  there  the  mind  reviews  and  arranges, 
with  the  happiest  effect,  all  the  ideas  and  impressions 
it  has  gained  in  its  observations  in  the  world:  it  is 
there  alone  that  the  dart  of  satire  can  be  truly  sharpen- 
ed against  inveterate  prejudices  and  infatuated  opin- 
ions ;  it  is  there  alone  that  the  vices  and  follies  of  man- 
kind present  themselves  accurately  to  the  view  of  the 
moralist,  and  excite  his  ardent  endeavors  to  correct 
and  r.eform  them.  The  hope  of  immortality  is  certain- 
ly the  highest  with  which  a  great  writer  can  possibly 
natter  his  mind  ;  but  he  must  possess  the  comprehen- 
sive genius  of  a  Bacon :  think  with  the  acuteness  of 
Voltaire:  compose  with  the  ease  and  elegance  of  Ros- 
seau  ;  and,  like  them,  produce  master-pieces  worthy 
of  posterity  in  order  to  obtain  it. 

The  love  of  fame,  as  Ayell  in  the  cottage  as  on  the 
throne,  or  in  the  camp,  stimulates  the  mind  to  the  per- 
formance of  those  actions  which  are  most  likely  to 
survive  mortality  and  live  beyond  the  grave,  and  which 
v/hen  achieved,  render  the  evening  of  life  as  brilliant 
as  its  morning.  "  The  praises  (gays  Plutarch,)  bestow- 
ed upon  great  and  exalted  minds,  only  spur  on  and 
rouse  their  emulation :  like  a  rapid  torrent,  the  glory 
which  they  have  already  acquired,  hurries  them  irre- 
sistibly on  to  every  thing  that  is  great  and  noble.— 
They  never  consider  themselves  sufficiently  reward- 
ed. Their  present  actions  are  only  pledges  of  what 
may  be  expected  from  them ;  and  they  would  blush 
not  to  live  faithful  to  their  glory,  and  to  render  it  still 
jjK>rc  illustrious  by  the  noblest  actions  y 


40  INFLUENCE  OF  SOLITUDE 

The  ear  which  would  be  deaf  to  servile  adulation 
and  insipid  compliment,  will  listen  with  pleasure  to  the 
enthusiasm  with  which  Cicero  exclaims,  "Why  should 
we  dissemble  what  it  is  impossible  for  us  to  conceal  ? 
Why  should  we  not  be  proud  of  confessing  candidly 
that  we  all  aspire  to  fame  7  The  love  of  praise  influ- 
ences all  mankind,  and  the  greatest  minds  are  the 
most  susceptible  of  it.  The  philosophers  who  most 
preach  up  a  contempt  for  fame,  prefix  their  names  to 
their  works :  and  the  very  performances  in  which 
they  deny  ostentation,  are  evident  proofs  of  their  vani- 
ty and  love  of  praise.  Virtue  requires  no  other  reward 
for  all  the  toils  and  dangers  to  which  she  exposes  her-? 
self  than  that  of  fame  and  glory.  Take  away  this  flat- 
tering reward,  and  what  would  remain  in  the  narrow 
career  of  life  to  prompt  her  exertions?  If  the  mind 
could  not  launch  into  the  prospect  of  futurity,  or  the 
operations  of  the  soul  were  to  be  limited  to  the  space 
that  bounds  those  of  the  body,  she  would  not  weak- 
en herself  by  constant  fatigues,  nor  weary  herself  with 
continual  watchings  and  anxieties;  she  would  not 
think  even  life  itself  worthy  of  a  struggle:  but  there 
lives  in  the  breast  of  every  good  man  a  principle  which 
unceasingly  prompts  and  inspirits  him  to  the  pursuit 
of  a  fame  beyond  the  present  hour ;  a  fame  not  com- 
mensurate to  our  mortal  existence,  but  coextensive 
with  the  latest  posterity,  Can  we,  who  every  day 
expose  ourselves  to  dangers  for  our  country,  and  have 
never  passed  one  moment  of  our  lives  without  anxie^ 
ty  or  trouble,  meanly  think  that  all  consciousness  shall 
be  buried  with  us  in  the  grave  1  If  the  greatest  men 
have  been  careful  to  preserve  their  busts  and  their 
statues,  those  images,  not  of  their  minds,  but  of  their 
bodies,  ought  we  not  rather  to  transmit  to  posterity  the 
resemblance  of  our  wisdom  and  virtue  ?  For  my  part, 
at  least,  I  acknowledge,  that  in  all  my  actions  I  con- 
ceived that  I  was  disseminating  and  transmitting  my 
fame  to  the  remotest  corners  and  the  latest  ages  of  the 
world.  Whether,  therefore,  my  consciousness  of  this 
shall  cease  in  the  grave,  or.  as  some  have  thought 
shall  survive  as  a  property  of  the  soul,  is  of  little  im- 
portance. Of  one  thing  I  am  certain,  that  at  this  in-* 
slant  I  feel  from  the  reflection  a  flattering  hope  and 
a  delightful  sensation." 

This  is  the  true  enthusiasm  with  which  preceptors 
should  inspire  the  bosoms  of  their  young  pupils.   Who? 


t«9  THE  MIND.  41 

ever  shall  be  happy  enough  to  light  up  this  gene- 
rous flame,  and  increase  it  by  constant  application,  will 
see  the  object  of  his  care  voluntarily  relinquish  the  per- 
nicious pleasures  of  youth,  enter  with  virtuous  dignity 
on  the  stage  of  life,  and  add,  by  the  performance  of 
the  noblest  actions,  new  lustre  to  science,  and  brighter 
rays  to  glory.  The  desire  of  extending  our  fame  by 
noble  deeds,  and  of  increasing  the  good  opinion  of 
mankind  by  a  dignified  conduct  and  real  greatness  of 
soul,  confers  advantages  which  neither  illustrious  birth, 
elevated  rank?  nor  great  fortune  can  bestow :  and  which, 
even  on  the  throne,  are  only  to  be  acquired  by  a  life  of 
exemplary  virtue,  and  an  anxious  attention  to  the  suf- 
frages of  posterity. 

There  is  no  character,  indeed,  more  likely  to  acquire 
future  fame  than  the  satirist,  who  dares  to  point  out 
and  condemn  the  follies,  the  prejudices,  and  the  grow- 
imr  vices  of  the  age,  in  strong  and  nervous  language. 
Works  of  this  description,  however  they  may  fail  to 
reform  the  prevailing  manners  of  the  times,  will  ope- 
rate on  succeeding  generations,  and  extend  their  influ- 
ence and  reputation  to  the  latest  posterity.  True  great- 
ness operates  long  after  envy  and  malice  have  pursu- 
ed the  modest  merit  which  produced  it  to  the  grave. 
O,  Lavater !  those  base  corrupted  souls  who  only  shine 
a  moment,  and  are  forever  extinguished,  will  be  for- 
gotten, while  the  memory  of  thy  name  is  carefully  che- 
rished, and  thy  virtues  fondly  beloved :  thy  foibles  will 
be  no  lonsrer  remembered ;  and  the  qualities  which  dis- 
tinguished and  adorned  thy  character  will  alone  be  re- 
viewed. The  rich  variety  of  thy  language,  the  judg- 
ment with  which  thou  hast  boldly  intended  and  crea- 
ted new  expressions,  the  nervous  brevity  of  thy  style, 
and  thy  striking^  picture  of  human  manners,  will,  as 
the  author  of  "The  Characters  of  German  Poets  and 
Prose  writers"  has  predicted,  extend  the  fame  of  thy 
"  Fragments  upon  Physiognomy"  to  the  remotest  pos- 
terity. The  accusation  that  Lavater,  who  was  capa- 
ble of  developing  such  sublime  truths,  and  of  creating 
almost  a  new  language,  gave  credit  to  the  juggles  of 
Gesner,  will  then  be  forgot ;  and  he  will  enjoy  the  life 
after  death,  which  Cicero  seemed  to  hope  for  with  so 
much  enthusiasm. 

Solitude,  indeed,  affords  a  pleasure  to  an  author  of 
which  no  one  can  deprive  him,  and  which  far  exceeds 
ail  the  honors  of  the  world.  He  not  only  anticipates 
4* 


42  INFLUENCE  OF  SOLITUDE 

the  effect  his  work  will  produce,  but  while  it  advances 
towards  completion,  feels  the  delicious  enjoyment  of 
those  hours  of  serenity  and  composure  which  his  la- 
bors procure.  What  continued  and  tranquil  delight 
flows  from  this  successive  composition  !  Sorrows  fly 
from  this  elegant  occupation.  O !  I  would  not  ex- 
change one  single  hour  of  such  tranquillity  and  con- 
tent, for  all  those  flattering  illusions  of  public  fame 
with  which  the  mind  of  Tully  was  so  incessantly  in- 
toxicated. A  difficulty  surmounted,  a  happy  moment 
seized,  a  proposition  elucidated,  a  sentence  neatly  and 
elegantly  turned,  or  a  thought  happily  expressed,  are 
salutary  and  healing  balms,~counter-poisons  to  melan- 
choly, and  belong  exclusively  to  a  wise  and  well-form- 
ed solitude. 

To  enjoy  himself  without  being  dependant  on  the 
aid  of  others,  to  devote  to  employments  not  perhaps  en- 
tirely useless,  those  hours  which  sorrow  and  chagrin 
would  otherwise  steal  from  the  sum  of  life  is  the  great 
advantage  of  an  author ;  and  with  this  advantage  alone 
I  am  perfectly  contented. 

Solitude  not  only  elevates  the  mind,  but  adds  new 
strength  to  its  powers.  The  man  who  has  not  cour- 
age to  conquer  the  prejudices  and  despise  the  manners 
of  the  world,  whose  greatest  dread  is  the  imputation 
of  singularity,  who  forms  his  opinion  and  regulates 
his  conduct  upon  the  judgment  and  actions  of  others, 
will  certainly  never  possess  sufficient  strength  of  mina 
to  devote  himself  to  voluntary  solitude ;  which,  it  has 
been  well  observed,  is  as  necessary  to  give  a  just,  solid, 
firm,  and  forcible  tone  to  our  thoughts,  as  an  interr 
course  with  the  world  is  to  give  them  richness,  bril- 
liancy, and  just  appropriation. 

The  mind,  employed  on  noble  and  interesting  sub- 
jects, disdains  the  indolence  that  stains  the  vacant 
breast.  Enjoying  freedom  and  tranquillity,  the  soul 
feels  the  extent  of  its  energies  with  greater  sensibility, 
and  displays  powers  which  it  was  before  unconscious 
of  possessing :  the  faculties  sharpen ;  the  mind  becomes 
more  clear,  luminous,  and  extensive ;  the  perception 
more  distinct ;  the  whole  intellectual  system,  in  short, 
exacts  more  from  itself  in  the  leisure  of  solitude  than 
in  the  bustle  of  the  world.  But  to  produce  these  happy 
effects,  solitude  must  not  be  reduced  to  a  state  of  tran<- 
quil  idleness  and  inactive  ease,  of  mental  numbness,  or 
sensual  s^por ;  it  is  not  sufficient  to  be  pontjnu^lly  g&- 


ON  THE  MIND.  43 

zing  out  of  a  window  with  a  vacant  mind,  or  gravely 
walking  up  and  down  the  study  in  a  ragged  robe-de- 
chamfrre  and  worn-out  slippers ;  for  the  mere  exterior 
of  tranquillity  cannot  elevate  or  increase  the  activity  of 
the  soul,  which  must  feel  an  eager  desire  to  roam  at 
large,  before  it  can  gain  that  delightful  liberty  and  lei- 
sure, which  at  the  same  instant  improves  the  understan- 
ding and  corrects  the  imagination.  The  mind,  indeed, 
is  enabled,  by  the  strength  it  acquires  under  the  shades 
of  retirement,  to  attack  prejudices,  and  combat  errors, 
with  the  unfailing  prowess  of  the  most  athletic  cham- 
pion :  for  the  more  it  examines  into  the  nature  of  things, 
the  closer  it  brings  them  to  its  view,  and  exposes,  with 
unerring  clearness,  all  the  latent  properties  they  pos- 
sess. An  intrepid  and  reflecting  mind,  when  retired 
within  itself,  seizes  with  rapture  on  truth  the  moment 
it  is  discovered :  looks  round  with  a  smile  of  pity  and 
contempt  on  those  who  despise  its  charms ;  hears 
without  dismay  the  invectives  which  envy  and  malice 
let  loose  against  him ;  and  nobly  disdains  the  hue  and 
cry  which  the  ignorant  multitude  raise  against  him, 
the  moment  he  elevates  his  hand  to  dart  against  them 
one  of  the  strongest  and  invincible  truths  he  has  dis- 
covered in  his  retreat. 

Solitude  diminishes  the  variety  of  those  troublesome 
passions  which  disturb  the  tranquillity  of  the  human 
mind,  by  combining  and  forming  a  number  of  them  in- 
to one  great  desire;  for  although  it  may  certainly  be- 
come dangerous  to  the  passions,  it  may  also,  thanks  to 
the  dispensations  of  Providence !  produce  very  salu- 
tary effects.  If  it  disorder  the  mind,  it  is  capable  of  ef- 
fecting Us  cure.  It  extracts  the  various  propensities 
of  thtf  human  heart,  and  unites  them  into  one.  By 
this  process  we  feel  and  learn  not  only  the  nature,  but 
the  extent,  of  all  the  passions  which  rise  up  against  us 
like  the  angry  waves  of  a  disordered  ocean,  to  over- 
whelm us  in  the  abyss :  but  philosophy  flies  to  our  aid, 
divides  their  force,  and,  if  we  do  not  yield  to  them  an 
easy  victory,  by  neglecting  all  opposition  to  their  at- 
tacks, virtue  and  self-denial  bring  gigantic  reinforce- 
ments to  our  assistance,  and  ensure  success.  Virtue 
and  resolution,  in  short,  are  equal  to  every  conflict,  the 
instant  we  learn  that  one  passion  is  to  be  conquered  by 
another. 

The  mind,  exalted  by  the  high  and  dignified  senti- 
jneijts  ft  acquires  by  lonely  meditation,  becomes  proud 


44  INFLUENCE  OF  SOLITUDE. 

of  its  superiority,  withdraws  itself  from  every  base 
and  ignoble  object,  and  avoids,  with  heroic  virtue,  the 
effect  of  dangerous  society.  A  noble  mind  observes  the 
sons  of  worldly  pleasure  mingling  in  scenes  of  riot  and 
debauchery  without  being  seduced ;  hears  it  in  vain 
echoed  from  every  side,  that  incontinence  is  among  the 
first  propensities  of  the  human  heart,  and  that  every 
young  man  of  fashion  and  spirit  must  as  necessarily 
indulge  his  appetite  for  the  fair  sex,  as  the  calls  of  hun- 
ger or  of  sleep.  Such  a  mind  perceives  that  libertinism 
and  dissipation  not  only  enervate  youth,  and  render  the 
feelings  callous  to  the  charms  of  virtue  and  principles 
of  honesty,  but  that  it  destroys  every  manly  resolution, 
renders  the  heart  timid,  decreases  exertion,  damps  the 
generous  warmth  and  fine  enthusiasm  of  the  soul,  and 
m  the  end,  totally  annihilates  all  its  powers.  The  youth, 
therefore,  who  seriously  wishes  to  sustain  an  honorable 
character  on  the  theatre  of  life,  must  forever  renounce 
the  habits  of  indolence  and  luxury ;  and  when  he  no 
longer  impairs  his  intellectual  faculties  by  debauchery, 
or  renders  it  necessary  to  attempt  the  renovation  of  his 
languid  and  debilitated  constitution  by  excess  of  wine 
ana  luxurious  living,  he  will  soon  be  relieved  from  the 
necessity  of  consuming  whole  mornings  on  horseback 
in  a  vain  search  of  that  health  from  change  of  scene 
which  temperence  and  exercise  would  immediately 
bestow. 

All  men  without  exception,  have  something  to  learn  ; 
whatever  may  be  the  distinguished  rank  which  they 
hold  in  society,  they  can  never  be  truly  great  but  by 
their  personal  merit.  The  more  the  faculties  of  the 
mind  are  exercised  in  the  tranquillity  of  retirement,  the 
more  conspicuous  they  appear;  and  should  the  pleas- 
ures of  debauchery  be  the  ruling  passion,  learn,  O  young 
man  !  that  nothing  will  so  easily  subdue  it  as  an  increas- 
ing emulation  in  great  and  virtuous  actions,  a  haired  of 
idleness  and  frivolity,  the  study  of  the  sciences,  a  fre- 
quent communication  with  your  own  heart,  and  that 
high  and  dignified  spirit  which  views  with  disdain 
every  thing  that  is  vile  and  contemptible.  This  gener- 
ous and  high  disdain  of  vice,  this  fond  and  ardent  love 
of  virtue,  discloses  itself  in  retirement  with  dignity  and 
greatness,  where  the  passion  of  high  achievement 
operates  with  greater  force  than  in  any  other  situa- 
tion. The  same  passion  which  carried  Alexander 
into  Asia,  confined  Diogenes  to  his  tub.  Heraclius 


TPON  THE  MIND.  45 

descended  from  his  throne  to  devote  his  mind  to  the 
search  of  truth.  He  who  wishes  to  render  his  know 
ledge  useful  to  mankind,  must  first  study  the  world ; 
not  too  intensely,  or  for  any  long  duration,  or  with  any 
fondness  for  its  follies:  for  the  follies  of  the  world 
enervate  and  destroy  the  vigor  of  the  mind.  Cesar 
tore  himself  from  the  embraces  of  Cleopatra,  and  be- 
came the  master  of  the  world ;  while  Antony  took  her 
as  a  mistress  19  his  bosom,  sunk  indolently  into  her 
arms,  and  by  his  effeminacy  lost  not  only  his  life,  but 
the  government  of  the  Roman  empire. 

Solitude,  indeed,  inspires  the  mind  with  notions  too 
refined  and  exalted  for  the  level  of  common  life.  But 
a  fondness  for  high  conceptions,  and  a  lively,  ardent 
disposition,  discovers  to  the  votaries  of  solitude,  the 
possibility  of  supporting  themselves  on  heights  which 
would  derange  the  intellects  of  ordinary  men.  Every 
object  that  surrounds  the  solitary  man  enlarges  the 
faculties  of  his  mind,  improves  the  feelings  of  his  heart, 
elevates  him  above  the  condition  of  the  species,  and 
inspires  his  soul  with  views  of  immortality.  Every  day 
in  the  life  of  a  man  of  the  world  seems  as  if  he  expect- 
ed it  would  be  the  last  of  his  existence.  Solitude  am- 
ply compensates  for  every  privation,  while  the  devotee 
of  worldly  pleasures  conceives  himself  lost  if  he  is  de- 
prived of  visiting  a  fashionable  assembly,  of  attending 
a  favorite  club,  of  seeing  a  new  play,  of  patronizing  a 
celebrated  boxer,  or  of  admiring  some  foreign  novelty 
which  the  hand-bills  of  the  day  have  announced. 

I  could  never  read  without  feeling  the  warmest  emo- 
tions, the  following  passage  of  Plutarch;  "  I  live,"  says 
he,  "  entirely  upon  history ;  and  while  I  contemplate 
the  pictures  it  presents  to  my  view,  my  mind  enjoys  a 
a  rich  repast  from  the  representation  of  great  and  'vir- 
tuous characters.  If  the  actions  of  men  produce  some 
instances  of  vice,  corruption,  and  dishonesty ;  I  endea- 
vor, nevertheless,  to  remove  the  impression,  or  to  de- 
feat its  effect.  My  mind  withdraws  itself  from  the 
scene,  and  free  from  every  ignoble  passion,  I  attach 
myself  to  those  high  examples  of  virtue  which  are  so 
agreeable  and  satisfactory,  and  which  accord  so  com- 
pletely with  the  genuine  feelings  of  our  nature." 

The  soul,  winged  by  these  sublime  images,  flies  from 
the  earth,  mounts  as  it  proceeds,  and  casts  an  eye  of 
disdain  on  those  surrounding  clouds  which,  as  they 
grayjt&e  to  the  earth,  would  impede  its  flight,  At  a 


46  INFLUENCE  OF  SOLITUDE 

certain  height  the  faculties  of  the  mind  expand,  and 
the  fibres  of  the  heart  dilate.  It  is,  indeed,  in  the  pow- 
er of  every  man  to  perform  more  than  he  undertakes  ; 
and  therefore  it  is  both  wise  and  praiseworthy  to  at- 
tempt every  thing  that  is  morally  within  our  reach. 
How  many  dormant  ideas  may  be  awakened  by  exer- 
tion !  and  then,  what  a  variety  of  early  impressions, 
which  were  seemingly  forgot,  revive,  and  present 
themselves  to  our  pens !  We  may  always  accomplish 
more  than  we  conceive,  provided  passion  fans  the 
flame  which  the  imagination  has  lighted;  for  life  is 
insupportable  when  unanimated  by  the  soft  affections 
of  the  heart. 

Solitude  leads  the  mind  to  those  sources  from 
whence  the  grandest  conceptions  are  most  likely  to 
flow.  But  alas !  it  is  not  in  the  power  of  every  per- 
son to  seize  the  advantages  solitude  bestows.  Were 
every  noble  mind  sensible  of  the  extensive  information, 
of  the  lofty  and  sublime  ideas,  of  the  exquisitely  fine 
feelings  which  result  from  occasional  retirement,  they 
would  frequently  quit  the  world,  even  in  the  earliest 
periods  of  youth,  to  taste  the  sweets  of  solitude,  and  lay 
the  foundation  for  a  wise  old  age. 

In  conducting  the  low  and  petty  affairs  of  life,  com- 
mon sense  is  certainly  a  more  useful  quality  than  even 
genius  itself.  Genius,  indeed,  or  that  fine  enthusiasm 
which  carries  the  mind  into  its  highest  sphere,  is  clog- 
ged and  impeded  in  its  ascent  by  the  ordinary  occupa- 
tions of  the  world,  and  seldom  regains  its  natural  liber- 
ty and  pristine  vigor  except  in  solitude.  Minds  anxious 
to  reach  the  regions  of  philosophy  and  science  have, 
indeed,  no  other  means  of  rescuing  themselves  from 
the  burden  and  thraldom  of  worldly  affairs.  Sickened 
and  disgusted  with  the  ridicule  and  obloquy  they  ex- 
perience from  an  ignorant  and  presumptuous  multitude, 
their  faculties  become,  as  it  were,  extinct,  and  mental 
exertion  dies  away ;  for  the  desire  of  fame,  that  great 
incentive  to  intellectual  achievement,  cannot  long  exist 
where  merit  is  no  longer  rewarded  by  praise.  But,  re- 
move such  minds  from  the  oppression  of  ignorance,  of 
envy,  of  hatred,  of  malice;  let  them  enjoy  liberty  and 
leisure ;  and  with  the  assistance  of  pen,  ink,  and  paper, 
they  will  soon  take  an  ample  revenge,  and  their  pro- 
ductions excite  the  admiration  of  the  world.  How  ma- 
ny excellent  understandings  remain  in  obscurity,  mere- 
ly on  account  of  the  possessor  being  condemned  to  foj- 


UPON  THE  MIND.  47 

low  worldly  employments,  in  which  little  or  no  use  of 
the  mind  is  required,  and  which,  for  that  reason,  ought 
to  be  exclusively  bestowed  on  the  ignorant  and  illite- 
rate vulgar!  But  this  circumstance  can  seldom  hap- 
pen in  solitude,  where  the  mental  faculties,  enjoying 
their  natural  freedom,  and  roaming  unconfined  through 
all  parts  and  properties  of  nature,  fix  on  those  pursuits 
most  congenial  to  their  powers,  and  most  likely  to  car- 
ry them  into  their  proper  sphere. 

The  unwelcome  reception  which  solitary  men  fre- 
quently meet  with  in  the  world,  becomes,  when  prop- 
erly considered,  a  source  of  enviable  happiness :  for  to 
be  universally  beloved,  would  prove  a  great  misfortune 
to  him  who  is  meditating  in  tranquillity  the  perform- 
ance of  some  great  and  important  work:  every  one 
would  then  be  anxious  to  visit  him,  to  solicit  his  visits 
in  return,  and  to  press  for  his  attendance  on  all  parties. 
But  though  philosophers  are  fortunately  not  in  general 
the  most  favored  guests  in  fashionable  societies,  they 
have  the  satisfaction  to  recollect,  that  it  is  not  ordinary 
or  common  characters  against  whom  the  public  hatred 
and  disgust  are  excited.  There  is  always  something 
great  in  that  man  against  whom  the  world  exclaims,  at 
whom  every  one  throws  a  stone,  and  on  whose  charac- 
ter all  attempt  to  fix  a  thousand  crimes,  without  being 
able  to  prove  one.  The  fate  of  a  man  of  genius,  who 
lives  retired  and  unknown,  is  certainly  more  enviable  : 
for  he  will  then  enjoy  the  pleasure  of  undisturbed  re- 
tirement ;  and  naturally  imagining  the  multitude  to  be 
ignorant  of  his  character,  will  not  be  surprised  that 
they  should  continually  misinterpret  and  pervert  both 
his  words  and  actions;  or  that  the  efforts  of  his  friends 
to  undeceive  the  public  with  respect  to  his  merit  should 
prove  abortive. 

Such  was,  in  the  mistaken  view  of  the  world,  the 
fate  of  the  celebrated  count  Schaumbourg  Lippe,  better 
known  by  the  appellation  of  count  de  Buckebourg. 
No  character,  throughout  Germany,  was  ever  more 
traduced,  or  so  little  understood  ;  and  yet  he  was  wor- 
thy of  being  enrolled  among  the  highest  names  his  age 
or  country  ever  produced.  When  I  first  became  ac- 
quainted with  him,  he  lived  in  almost  total  privacy, 
quite  retired  from  the  world,  on  a  small  paternal  farm, 
in  the  management  of  which  consisted  all  his  pleasure 
and  employment.  His  exterior  appearance  was  I  con- 
fess, rather  forbidding,  and  prevented  superficial  obser 


48  INFLUENCE  OF  SOLITUDE 

vers  from  perceiving  the  extraordinary  endowments  of 
his  brilliant  and  capacious  mind.  The  count  de  Lacy, 
formerly  ambassador  from  the  court  of  Madrid  to  Pe- 
tersburgh,  related  to  me  during  his  residence  at  Hano- 
ver, that  he  led  the  Spanish  army  against  the  Portu- 
fuese  at  the  time  they  were  commanded  by  the  count 
e  Buckebourg ;  and  that  when  the  officers  discovered 
him  as  they  were  reconnoitering  the  enemy  with  their 
glasses,  the  singularity  of  his  appearance  struck  them 
so  forcibly,  that  they  immediately  exclaimed,  "Are 
the  Portuguese  commanded  by  Don  Quixote?"  The 
ambassador,  however,  who  possessed  a  liberal  mind, 
did  justice  in  the  highest  terms,  to  the  merit  and  good 
conduct  of  Buckebourg  in  Portugal ;  and  praised,  with 
enthusiastic  admiration,  the  goodness  of  his  mind,  and 
the  greatness  of  his  character.  Viewed  at  a  distance, 
his  appearance  was  certainly  romantic ;  and  his  heroic 
countenance,  his  flowing  hair,  his  tall  and  meagre 
figure,  and  particularly  the  extraordinary  length  of  nis 
visage,  might,  in  truth,  recal  some  idea  of  the  celebra- 
ted Knight  of  La  Mancha :  but,  on  a  closer  view,  both 
his  person  and  his  manners  dispelled  the  idea ;  for  his 
features,  full  of  fire  and  animation,  announced  the  ele- 
vation, sagacity,  penetration,  kindness,  virtue,  and  se- 
renity of  his  soul ;  and  the  most  sublime  and  heroic 
sentiments  were  as  familiar  and  natural  to  his  mind, 
as  they  were  to  the  noblest  characters  of  Greece  and 
Rome. 

The  count  was  born  in  London,  and  possessed  a  dis- 
position as  whimsical  as  it  was  extraordinary.  The 
anecdotes  concerning  him,  which  I  heard  from  his  re- 
lation, a  German  prince^  are  perhaps  not  generally 
known.  Fond  of  contending  with  the  English  in  every 
thing,  he  laid  a  wager  that  he  would  ride  a  horse  from 
London  to  Edinburg  backwards,  that  is,  with  the 
horse's  head  toward  Edinburg,  and  the  count's  face 
toward  London :  and  in  this  manner  he  actually  rode 
through  several  counties  in  England,  he  travelled 
through  the  greater  part  of  that  kingdom  on  foot  in 
the  disguise  of  a  common  beggar.  Being  informed 
that  part  of  the  current  of  the  Danube,  above  Regens- 
berg,  was  so  strong  and  rapid,  that  no  one  dared  to 
swim  across  it ;  he  made  the  attempt,  and  ventured 
so  far  that  he  nearly  lost  his  life.  A  great  statesman 
and  profound  philosopher  at  Hanover  related  to  me, 
that  during  the  war  in  which  the  count  commanded 


UPON  THE  MIND.  49 

the  artillery  in  the  army  of  prince  Ferdinand  of  Bruns- 
wick against  the  French,  he  one  day  invited  a  number 
of  Hanoverian  officers  to  dine  with  him  in  his  tent. 
While  the  company  were  in  the  highest  state  of  festive 
mirth  and  gayety,  a  succession  of  cannon  balls  passed 
directly  over  the  head  of  the  tent.  "  The  French  can- 
not  be  far  off!"  exclaimed  the  officers.  "  Oh !  I  assure 
you,"  replied  the  count,  "they  are  not  near  us;"  and 
he  begged  the  gentlemen  would  make  themselves  per- 
fectly easy,  resume  their  seats,  and  finish  their  dinner. 
Soon  afterwards  a  cannon  ball  carried  away  the  top  of 
the  tent,  when  the  officers  again  rose  precipitately 
from  their  seats,  exclaiming,  "The  enemy  are  here  !" 
u  No,  no,"  replied  the  count,  "  the  enemy  are  not  here: 
therefore  I  must  request,  gentlemen,  that  you  will 
place  yourselves  at  the  table,  and  sit  still,  for  you  may 
rely  on  my  word."  The  firing  recommenced  and  the 
balls  flew  about  in  the  same  direction:  the  officers, 
however,  remained  fixed  to  their  seats;  and  while  they 
ate  and  drank  in  seeming:  tranquillity,  whispered  to  each 
other  their  surmises  and  conjectures  on  this  singular 
entertainment.  At  length  the  count,  rising  from  his 
seat  addressed  the  company  in  these  words :  "  gentle- 
men, I  was  willing  to  convince  you  how  well  I  can  re- 
ly upon  the  officers  of  my  artillery.  I  ordered  them  to 
nre,  during  the  time  we  continued  at  dinner,  at  the 
pinnacle  of  the  tent ;  and  you  have  observed  with  what 
punctuality  they  obeyed  my  orders." 

Characteristic  traits  of  a  man  anxious  to  innure  him- 
self and  those  about  him  to  arduous  and  difficult  ex- 
ploits will  not  be  useless  or  xmentertaining  to  curious 
and  speculative  minds.  Being  one  day  in  company 
with  the  count  at  fort  Wilhelmstein.  by  the  side  of  a 
magazine  of  gunpowder,  which  he  had  placed  in  the 
room  immediately  under  that  in  which  he  slept,  I  observ- 
ed to  him,  that  I  should  not  be  able  to  sleep  very  content- 
edly there  during  some  of  the  hot  nights  of  summer.  The 
count,  however,  convinced  me,  though  I  do  not  now 
recollect  by  what  means,  that  the  greatest  danger  and 
no  danger,  are  one  and  the  same  thing.  When  I  first 
saw  this  extraordinary  man,  which  was  in  the  compa- 
ny of  two  officers,  the  one  English  the  other  Portu- 
guese, he  entertained  me  for  two  hours  upon  the  phy- 
siology of  Haller,  whose  works  he  knew  by  heart.  The 
ensuing  morning  he  insisted  on  my  accompanying  him 
in  a  little  boat,  whichhe  rowed  himself,  to  fort  Wilhelm- 
5 


60  INFLUENCE   OF  SOLITUDE 

stein,  built  under  his  direction  in  the  middle  of  the 
water,  from  plans,  which  he  showed  me  of  his  own 
drawing.  One  Sunday,  on  the  great  parade  at  Pyr- 
niont,  surrounded  by  a  vast  concourse  of  men  and  wo- 
men occupied  in  music,  dancing,  and  gallantries,  he 
entertained  me  during  the  course  of  two  hours  on  the 
same  spot,  and  with  as  much  serenity  if  we  had  been 
alone,  by  detailing  the  various  controversies  respecting 
the  existence  of  God,  pointing  out  their  defective  parts 
and  convincing  me  that  he  surpassed  every  writer  in 
his  knowledge  of  the  subject.  To  prevent  my  escaping 
from  this  lecture,  he  held  me  fast  the  whole  time  by 
one  of  the  buttons  of  my  coat.  At  his  country  seat  at 
Buckebourg,  he  showed  me  a  large  folio  volume^  in  his 
own  hand-writing,  upon  "The,  Art  of  defending  a 
small  town  against  a  great  force."  The  work  was  com- 
pletely finished  and  intended  as  a  present  to  the  king 
of  Portugal.  There  were  many  passages  in  it,  which 
the  count  did  me  the  favor  to  read  relating  to  Swisser- 
hmd,  a  country  and  people  which  he  considered  as  in- 
vincible; pointing  out  to  me  not  only  all  the  important 
places  they  might  occupy  against  an  enemy,  but  dis- 
covering passes  before  unknown,  and  through  which 
even  a  cat  would  scarce  be  able  to  crawl.  I  do  not  be- 
lieve that  any  thing  was  ever  writen  of  higher  impor- 
tance tONlhe  interests  of  my  country  than"  this  work  ; 
for  it  contains  satisfactory  answers  to  every  objection 
that  ever  has  or  can  be  made.  My  friend  M.  Moyse 
Mendelsohm,  to  whom  the  count  read  the  preface  to 
this  work  while  he  resided  at  Pyrmont,  considered  it 
as  a  master-piece  of  fine  style  and  sound  reasoning; 
for  the  count,  when  he  pleased,  wrote  the  French  lan- 
guage with  nearly  as  much  elegance  and  purity  as 
Voltaire:  while  in  the  German  he  was  labored,  per- 
plexed, and  diffuse.  I  must,  however,  add  this  in  his 
his  praise,  that,  on  his  return  from  Portugal,  he  stu- 
died for  many  years  under  two  of  the  most  acute  mas- 
ters in  Germany :  first,  Abbt ;  and  afterwards  Herder. 
Many  persons  who,  from  a  closer  intimacy  and  deeper 
penetration,  have  had  greater  opportunities  of  obser- 
ving the  conduct  and  character  of  this  truly  great  and 
extraordinary  nian,  relate  of  him  a  variety  of  anec- 
dotes equally  instructive  and  entertaining.  I  shall 
only  add  one  observation  more  respecting  his  charac- 
ter, availing  myself  of  the  words  of  Shakspeare ;  the 
coiint  Guilaume  de  Schaumbourg  Lippe 


UPON  THE  MIND.  51 

' carries  no  dagger. 

He  has  a  lean  and  hungry  look ; 

but  he's  not  dangerous  : 

he  reads  much: 

He  is  a  great  observer :  and  he  looks 

Quite  thro'  the  deeds  of  men.    He  loves  no  plays 

he  hears  no  music  ; 

Seldom  he  smiles,  and  smiles  in  such  a  sort, 
As  if  he  mock'd  himself,  and  scorn'd  his  spirit, 
That  could  be  mov'd  to  smile  at  any  thing." 

Such  was  the  character,  always  misunderstood,  of 
this  solitary  man ;  and  such  a  character  might  fairly 
indulge  a  contemptuous  smile,  on  perceiving the  mis- 
taken sneers  of  an  ignorant  multitude,  put  what 
must  be  the  shame  and  confusion  of  the  partial  judges 
of  mankind,  when  they  behold  the  monument  which 
the  great  Mendelsohm  has  raised  to  his  memory ;  and 
the  faithful  history  of  his  life  and  mariners  which  a 
young  author  is  about  to  publish  at  Hanover ;  the  pro- 
found sentiments,  the  elegant  style,  the  truth,  and  the 
sincerity  of  which  will  be  discovered  and  acknowledged 
by  impartial  posterity  ? 

The  men  who,  as  I  have  frequently  observed,  are  dis- 
posed to  ridicule  this  illustrious  character  on  account 
of  his  long  visage,  his  flowing  hair,  his  enormous  hat, 
or  his  little  sword,  might  be  pardoned,  if,  like  him, 
they  were  philosophers  or  heroes.  The  mind  of  the 
count,  however,  was  too  exalted  to  be  moved  by  their 
insulting  taunts,  and  he  never  smiled  upon  the  world, 
or  upon  men,  either  with  spleen  or  with  contempt. 
Feeling  no  hatred,  indulging  no  misanthropy,  his 
looks  beamed  kindness  on  all  around  him ;  and  he  en- 
joyed with  dignified  composure  the  tranquillity  of  his 
rural  retreat  in  the  middle  of  a  thick  forest,  either  alone 
or  in  the  company  of  a  fond  and  virtuous  wife,  whose 
death  so  sensibly  afflicted  even  his  firm  and  constant 
mind,  that  it  brought  him  almost  to  an  untimely  grave. 
The  people  of  Athens  laughed  at  Themistoclos,  and 
openly  reviled  him  even  in  the  streets,  because  he  was 
ignorant  of  the  manners  of  the  world,  the  ton  of  good 
company,  and  that  accomplishment  which  is  called 
gooa  breeding.  He  retorted,  however,  upon  these  ig- 
norant railers  with  the  keenest  asperity:  "It  is  true," 
said  he,  "  I  never  play  upon  the  lute  ;  but  I  know  how 
to  raise  a  small  and  inconsiderable  city  to  greatness 
and  to  glory." 

•Solitude  '  and   philosophy  may   inspire   sentiments 


52  INFLCENCE  OF  SOLITUDE 

which  appear  ludicrous  to  the  eye  of  worldly  folly. 
but  they  banish  all  light  and  insignificant  ideas,  and 
prepare  the  mind  for  the  grandest  and  most  sublime 
conceptions.  Those  Who  are  in  the  habit  of  studying 
great  and  exalted  characters,  of  cultivating  refined  anil 
elevated  sentiments,  unavoidably  contract  a  singulari- 
ty of  manners  which  may  furnish  ample  materials  for 
ridicule.  Romantic  characters  always  view  things  dif- 
ferently from  what  they  really  are  or  can  be :  and  the 
habit  of  invariably  contemplating  the  sublime  and 
beautiful,  renders  them,  in  the  eyes  of  the  weak  and 
wicked,  insipid  and  unsupportable.  Men  of  this  dispo- 
sition always  acquire  a  high  and  dignified  demeanor, 
which  shocks  the  feelings  of  the  vulgar ;  but  it  is  not 
on  that  account  the  less  meritorious.  Certain  Indian 
philosophers  annually  quitted  their  solitude  to  visit 
the  palace  of  their  sovereign,  where  each  of  them,  in 
his  turn,  delivered  his  advice  upon  the  government  of 
the  state,  and  upon  the  changes  and  limitations  which 
might  be  made  in  the  laws ;  but  he  who  three  succes- 
sive times  communicated  false  or  unimportant  obser- 
vations, lost  for  one  year,  the  privilege  of  appearing  in 
the  presence-chamber.  This  practice  is  well  calculated 
to  prevent  the  mind  from  growing  romantic :  but  there 
are  many  philosophers  of  a  different  description,  who 
if  they  had  the  same  opportunity,  would  not  meet  with 
better  success. 

Plotinus  requested  the  emperor  Gallienus  to  confer 
on  him  a  small  city  in  Campania,  and  the  territory  ap- 
pendant  to  it,  promising  to  retire  to  it  with  his  friends 
arid  followers,  and  to  realise  in  the  government  of  it 
the  Republic  of  Plato.  It  happened  then,  however,  as 
it  frequently  happens  now  in  many  courts,  to  philoso- 
phers much  less  chimerical  than  Plotinus ;  the  states- 
men laughed  at  the  proposal,  and  told  the  emperor  that 
the  philosopher  was  a  fool,  in  whose  mind  even  experi- 
ence had  produced  no  effect. 

The  history  of  the  greatness  and  virtues  of  the  an- 
eients  operate  in  solitude  with  the  happiest  effect. 
Sparks  of  that  bright  flame  which  warmed  the  bosoms 
of  the  great  and  good,  frequently  kindled  unexpected 
fires.  A  lady  in  the  country,  whose  health  was  im- 
paired by  nervous  affections,  was  advised  to  read  with 
attention  the  history  of  the  Greek  and  Roman  empires. 
At  the  expiration  of  three  months  she  wrote  to  me  in 
the  following  terms:  "You  have  inspired  my  mind 


PPOX  THE  MTND.  53 

with  a  veneration  for  the  virtues  of  the  ancients. 
What  are  the  buzzing  race  of  the  present  day,  when 
compared  with  those  noble  characters  ?  History  here- 
tofore was  not  my  favorite  study:  but  now  I  live  only 
in  its  pages.  While  I  read  of  the  transactions  of 
Greece  and  Rome,  I  wish  to  become  an  actor  in  the 
scenes.  It  has  not  only  opened  to  me  an  inexhaustible 
source  of  pleasure,  but  it  has  restored  me  to  health.  I 
could  not  have  believed  that  my  library  contained  so 
inestimable  a  treasure :  my  books  will  now  prove  more 
valuable  to  me  than  all  the  fortune  I  possess ;  in  the 
course  of  six  months  you  will  no  longer  be  troubled 
with  my  complaints.  Plutarch  is  more  delightful  to 
me  than  the  charms  of  dress,  the  triumphs  of  coquetry, 
or  the  sentimental  effusions  which  lovers  address  to 
those  mistresses  who  are  inclined  to  be  all  heart ;  and 
with  whom  satan  plays  tricks  of  love  with  the  same 
address  as  a  dilletante  plays  tricks  of  music  on  the  vio- 
lin." This  lady,  who  is  really  learned,  no  longer  fills 
her  letters  with  the  transactions  of  her  kitchen  and 
poultry  yard ;  she  has  recovered  her  health ;  and  will 
experience  hereafter,  I  conjecture,  as  much  pleasure 
among  her  hens  and  chickens,  as  she  did  before  from 
the  pages  of  Plutarch. 

But  although  the  immediate  effects  of  such  writings 
cannot  be  constantly  perceived,  except  in  solitude,  or  in 
the  society  of  select  friends,  yet  they  may  remotely  be 
productive  of  the  happiest  consequences.  The  mind  of 
a  man  of  genius,  during  his  solitary  walks,  is  crowded 
with  a  variety  of  ideas,  which,  on  being  disclosed, 
would  appear  ridiculous  to  the  common  herd  of  man- 
kind: a  period,  however,  arrives,  at  which  they  lead 
msn  to  the  performance  of  actions  worthy  of  immor- 
tality. The  national  songs  composed  by  that  ardent 
genius  Lavater,  appeared  at  a  moment  when  the  re- 
public was  in  a  declining  state,  and  the  temper  of  the 
times  unfavorable  to  their  reception.  The  Schintzuach 
society,  by  whose  persuasion  they  had  been  written, 
had  given  some  offence  to  the  French  ambassador; 
and  from  that  time  all  the  measures  which  the  mem- 
bers adopted  were  decried  with  the  most  factious  viru- 
lence in  every  quarter.  Even  the  great  Haller,  who 
had  been  refused  admission,  considering  them  as  disci- 
ples of  Rousseau,  whom  he  hated ;  and  as  enemies  to 
orthodoxy,  which  he  loved ;  pointed  his  epigrams 
against  them  in  every  letter  I  received  from  him :  and 
5* 


54  INFLUENCE  OF  SOLITODE 

the  committee  for  the  reformation  of  literature  at  Zurich 
expressly  prohibited  the  publication  of  these  excellent 
Ivric  compositions,  on  the  curious  pretence,  that  it  was 
dangerous  and  improper  to  stir  up  a  dunghill.  No  poet 
of  Greece,  however,  ever  wrote  with  "more  fire  and 
force  in  favor  of  his  country  than  Lavater  did  in  favor 
of  the  liberties  of  Swisserland.  I  have  heard  children 
chaunt  these  songs  with  patriotic  enthusiasm ;  and.  seen 
the  finest  eyes  filled  with  tears  of  rapture  while  their 
ears  listened  to  the  singers.  Joy  glowed  in  the  breasts 
of  the  Swiss  peasants  to  whom  they  were  sung:  their 
muscles  swelled,  and  the  blood  inflamed  their  cheeks. 
Fathers  have,  within  my  own  knowledge,  carried  their 
infant  children  to  the  chapel  of  the  celebrated  William 
Tell,  to  join  in  full  chorus  the  song  which  Lavater 
composed  upon  the  merits  of  that  great  man.  I  have 
myself  made  the  rocks  re-echo  to  my  voice,  by  singing 
these  songs  to  tbe  music  which  the  feelings  of  my  heart 
composed  for  them  while  wandering  over  the  fields, 
and  climbing  among  the  famous  mountains  where 
those  heroes,  the  ancestors  of  our  race,  signalized  them- 
selves by  their  immortal  valor.  I  fancied  that  I  saw 
them  still  armed  with  their  knotted  clubs,  breaking  to 
pieces  the  crowned  helmets  of  Germany ;  and  although 
inferior  in  numbers,  forcing  the  proud  nobility  to  seek 
their  safety  by  a  precipitate  and  ignominious  flight. 
These,  it  may  be  said,  are  romantic  notions,  and  can 
only  please  solitary  and  recluse  men,  who  see  things 
differently  from  the  rest  of  the  world.  But  great  ideas 
sometimes  now  make  their  way  in  spite  of  the  most  ob- 
stinate opposition,  and  operating,  particularly  in  repub- 
lics, by  insensible  degrees,  sow  the  seeds  of  those  prin- 
ciples and  true  opinions,  which,  as  they  arrive  to  matu- 
rity, prove  so  efficacious  in  times  of  political  contest 
and  public  commotion. 

Solitude,  therefore,  by  instilling  high  sentiments  of 
human  nature,  and  heroic  resolutions  in  defence  of  its 
just  priviliges,  unites  all  the  qualities  which  are  neces- 
sary to  raise  the  soul  and  fortify  the  character,  and 
forms  an  ample  shield  against  the  shafts  of  envy,  ha- 
tred or  malice.  Resolved  to  thir.k  and  to  act,  upon 
every  occasion  in  opposition  to  the  sentiments  of 
narrow  minds,  the  solitary  man  attends  to  all  the  vari- 
ous opinions  he  meets  with,  but  is  astonished  at  none. 
Without  being  ungrateful  for  the  just  and  rational  es- 
teem his  intimate  friends  bestow  upon  him ;  remember- 


UPON  THE  MrND.  55 

ing1,  too,  that  friends,  always  partial,  and  inclined  to 
judge  too  favorably,  frequently,  like  enemies,  suffer 
their  feelings  to  carry  them  too  far ;  he  boldly  calls  upon 
the  public  voice  to  announce  his  character  to  the  world 
at  large  :  displays  his  just  pretensions  before  this  impar- 
tial tribunal,  and  demands  that  justice  which  is  due. 

But  solitude,  although  it  exalts  the  sentiments,  is 
generally  conceived  tp^render  the  niind  unfit  for  busi- 
ness :  this,  however,  is,  in  my  opinion,  a  great  mistake. 
To  avoid  tottering  through  the  walks  of  public  duty,  it 
must  be  of  great  utility  to  have  acquired  a  firm  step, 
by  exercising  the  mind  in  solitude  on  those  subjects 
which  are  likely  to  occur  in  public  life.  The  love  of 
truth  is  best  preserved  in  solitude,  and  virtue  there  ac- 
quires greater  consistency :  but  I  confess  truth  is  not 
always  convenient  in  business  nor  the  rigid  exercise  of 
virtue  propitious  to  wordly  success. 

The  great,  and  the  good  however,  of  every  clime,  re- 
vere the  simplicity  of  manners,  and  the  singleness  of 
heart,  which  solitude  produces.  It  was  these  inestima- 
ble qualities  which  during  the  fury  of  the  war  between 
England  and  France,  obtained  the  philosophic  Jean  An- 
dre de  Luc  the  reception  he  met  with  at  the  court  of  Ver- 
sailles ;  and  inspired  the  breast  of  the  virtuous,  the  im- 
mortal de  Vergennes  with  the  desire  to  reclaim,  by  the 
mild  precepts  of  a  philosopher,  the  refractory  citizens 
of  Geneva,  which  all  his  remonstrances,  as  prime  min- 
ister of  France,  had  been  unable  to  effect.  De  Luc,  at 
the  request  of  Vergennes  made  the  attempt,  but  faiied 
of  success ;  and  France,  as  it  is  well  known,  was 
obliged  to  send  an  army  to  subdue  the  Genevese.  It 
was  upon  his  favorite  mountains  that  this  amiable  phi- 
losopher acquired  that  simplicity  of  manners,  which  he 
still  preserves  amidst  all  the  luxuries  and  seductions  of 
London;  where  he  endures  with  firmness  all  the 
wants,  refuses  all  the  indulgences,  and  subdues  all  the 
desires  of  social  life.  While  he  resided  at  Hanover,  I 
only  remarked  one  single  instance  of  luxury  in  which 
he  indulged  himself;  when  any  thing  vexed  his  mind, 
he  chewed  a  small  morsel  of  sugar,  of  which  Le  al- 
ways carried  a  small  supply  in  his  pocket. 

Solitude  not  only  creates  simplicity  of  manners,  but 
prepares  and  strengthens  the  faculties  for  the  toils  of 
busy  life.  Fostered  in  the  bosom  of  retirement,  the 
mind  becomes  more  active  in  the  world  and  its  con- 
cerns, and  retires  again  into  tranquillity  to  repose  it- 


5tt  INFLUENCE  OF  SOLITODE 

self,  and  prepare  for  new  conflicts.  Pericles,  Phocion, 
and  Epaminondas,  laid  the  foundation  of  all  their  great- 
ness  in  solitude,  and  acquired  there  rudiments,  which 
all  the  language  of  the  schools  cannot  teach — the  rudi- 
ments of  their  future  lives  and  actions.  Pericles,  while 
preparing  his  mind  for  any  important  object,  never  ap- 
peared in  public,  but  immediately  refrained  from  feas- 
ting, assemblies,  and  every  species  of  entertainment ; 
and  during  the  whole  time  that  he  administered  the  af- 
fairs of  the  republic,  he  only  went  once  to  sup  with  a 
friend,  and  left  him  at  an  early  hour.  Phocion  imme- 
diately resigned  himself  to  the  study  of  philosophy  : 
not  from  the  ostentatious  motive  of  being  called  a  wise 
man,  but  to  enable  himself  to  conduct  tlTe  business  of 
the  state  with  greater  resolution  and  effect.  Epami- 
nondas, who  had  passed  his  whole  life  in  the  delights 
of  literature,  and  in  the  improvement  of  his  mind,  as- 
tonished the  Thebans  by  the  military  skill  and  dex- 
terity which  he  all  at  once  displayed  at  the  battles  ol 
Mantinea  and  Leuctra,  in  the  first  of  which  he  rescued 
his  friend  Pelopidas :  but  it  was  owing  to  the  frugal 
use  he  made  of  his  time,  to  the  attention  with  which  he 
devoted  his  mind  to  every  pursuit  he  adopted,  and  to 
that  solitude  which  his  relinquishment  of  every  public 
employment  afforded  him.  His  countrymen,  however, 
forced  him  to  abandon  his  retreat,  gave  him  the  abso- 
lute command  of  the  army;  and  by  his  military  skill, 
he  saved  the  republic. 

Petrarch,  also  a  character  I  never  contemplate  but 
with  increasing  sensibility,  formed  his  mind,  and  ren- 
dered it  capable  of  transacting  the  most  complicated 
political  affairs,  by  the  habit  Tie  acquired  in  solitude. 
He  was,  indeed,  what  persons  frequently  become  in  so- 
litude, choleric,  satirical,  and  petulant :  and  has  been 
severely  reproached  with  having  drawn  the  manners  of 
his  age  with  too  harsh  and  sombrous  a  pencil,  particu- 
larly the  scenes  of  infamy  which  were  transacted  at 
the  court  of  Avignon,  under  the  pontificate  of  Clement 
VI. ;  but  he  was  a  perfect  master  of  the  human  heart, 
knew  how  to  manage  the  passions  with  uncommon 
dexterity,  and  to  turn  them  directly  to  his  purposes. 
The  abbe  de  Sades,  the  best  historian  of  his  life,  says, 
"  he  is  scarcely  known,  except  as  a  tender  and  elearant 
poet,  who  loved  with  ardor,  and  sung,  in  all  the  har- 
mpny  of  verse,  the  charms  of  his  mistress."  But  was 
this  m  reality  the  whole  of  his  character  ?— Certainly 


UPON  THE  MIND.  67 

not.  Literature,  long  buried  in  the  ruins  of  barbarity, 
owes  the  highest  obligations  to  his  pen ;  he  rescued 
some  of  the  finest  works  of  antiquity  from  dust  and  rot- 
tenness j  and  many  of  those  precious  treasures  of  learn- 
ing, which  have  since  contributed  to  delight  and  in- 
struct mankind,  were  discovered  by  his  industry,  cor- 
rected by  his  learning  and  sagacity,  and  multiplied  in 
accurate  copies  at  his  expense.  He  was  the  great  re- 
storer of  elegant  writing  and  true  taste ;  and  by  his 
own  compositions,  equal  to  any  that  ancient  Rome,  pre- 
vious to  its  subjugation,  produced,  purified  the  public 
mind,  reformed  the  manners  of  the  age,  and  extirpated 
the  prejudices  of  the  times.  Pursuing  his  studies  with 
unremitting  firmness  to  the  hour  of  his  death,  his  last 
work  surpassed  all  that  had  preceded  it.  But  he  was 
not  only  a  tender  lover,  an  elegant  poet,  and  a  correct 
and  classical  historian,  but  an  able  statesman  also,  to 
whom  the  most  celebrated  sovereigns  of  his  age  con- 
fided every  difficult  negotiation,  and  consulted  in  their 
most  important  concerns.  He  possessed,  in  the  four- 
teenth century,  a  degree  of  fame,  credit,  and  influ- 
ence, which  no  man  of  the  present  day,  however  learn- 
ed, has  ever  acquired.  Three  popes,  an  emperor,  a  so- 
vereign of  France,  a  king  of  Naples,  a  crowd  of  car- 
dinals, the  greatest  princes,  and  the  most  illustrious 
nobility  of  Italy,  cultivated  his  friendship,  and  solici- 
ted his  correspondence.  In  the  several  capacities  of 
statesman,  minister,  and  ambassador,  he  was  employed 
in  transacting  the  greatest  affairs,  and  by  that  means 
was  enabled  to  acquire  and  disclose  the  most  useful 
and  important  truths.  These  high  advantages  he 
owed  entirly  to  solitude,  with  the  nature  of  which  as 
he  was  better  acquainted  than  any  other  person,  so  he 
cherished  it  with  greater  fondness,  and  resounded  its 
praise  with  higher  energy ;  and  at  length  preferred  his 
leisure  and  liberty  to  all  the  enjoyments  of  the  world. 
Love,  to  which  he  had  consecrated  the  prime  of  life, 
appeared,  indeed,  for  along  time,  to  enervate  his  mind; 
but  suddenly  abandoning  the  soft  and  effeminate  style 
in  which  he  breathed  his  sighs  at  Laura's  feet,  he  ad- 
dressed kings,  emperors,  and  popes,  with  manly  bold- 
ness, and  with  that  confidence  which  splendid  talents 
and  a  high  reputation  always  inspires.  In  an  elegant 
oration,  worthy  of  Demosthenes  and  Cicero,  he  endea- 
vored to  compose  the  jarring  interests  of  Italy;  and  ex. 
horted  the  contending  powers  to  destroy  Mr}th  their 


IIVU3ENCE   OF  SOLITUDE 

confederated  arms,  the  barbarians,  those  common  ene- 
mies of  their  country,  who  were  ravaging  its  very  bo- 
som, and  preying  on  its  vitals.  The  enterprises  of  Ri- 
enzi,  who  seemed  like  an  agent  sent  from  heaven  to 
restore  the  decayed  metropolis  of  the  Roman  empire 
to  its  former  splendor,  were  suggested,  encouraged,  di- 
rected, and  supported  by  his  acuities.  A  timid  empe- 
ror was  roused  by  his  eloquence  to  invade  Italy,  and 
induced  to  seize  upon  the  reins  of  government,  as  suc- 
cessor to  the  Cesars.  The  pope,  by  his  advice,  remov- 
ed the  holy  chair,  which  had  been  transported  to  the 
borders  of  the  Rhine,  and  replaced  it  on  the  banks  of 
the  Tiber ;  and  at  a  moment  even  when  he  confessed, 
in  one  of  his  letters,  that  his  mind  was  distracted  with 
vexation,  his  heart  torn  with  love,  and  his  whole  soul 
disgusted  with  men  and  measures.  Pope  Clement  VI, 
confided  to  his  negotiation  an  affair  of  great  difficulty 
at  the  court  of  Naples,  in  which  he  succeeded  to  the 
highest  satisfaction  of  his  employer.  His  residence  at 
courts,  indeed,  had  rendered  him  ambitious,  busy,  and 
enterprising ;  and  he  candidly  acknowledged,  that  he 
felt  a  pleasure  on  perceiving  a  hermit,  accustomed  to 
dwell  only  in  woods,  and  to  saunter  over  plains,  run- 
ning through  the  magnificent  palaces  of  cardinals  with 
a  crowd  of  courtiers  in  his  suite.  When  John  Viscon- 
ti,  archbishop  and  prince  of  Milan,  and  sovereign  of 
Lombardy.  who  united  the  finest  talents  with  ambition 
so  insatiable,  that  it  threatened  to  swallow  up  all  Italy, 
had  the  happiness  to  fix  Petrarch  in  his  interests,  by  in- 
ducing him  to  accept  of  a  seat  in  his  council,  the  friends 
of  the  philosopher  whispered  one  among  another, 
"  This  stern  republican  who  breathed  no  sentiments 
but  those  of  liberty  and  independence ;  this  untamed 
bull,  who  roared  so  loud  at  the  slightest  shadow  of 
the  yoke ;  who  could  endure  no  fetters  but  those  of 
love,  and  who  even  felt  those  too  heavy :  who  has  re- 
fused the  first  offices  at  the  court  of  Rome,  because  he 
disdained  to  wear  golden  chains ;  has  at  length  sub^ 
mitted  to  be  shackled  by  the  tyrant  of  Italy ;  and  this 
great  apostle  of  solitude,  who  could  no  longer  live  ex- 
cept in  the  tranquillity  of  the  groves,  now  contentedly 
resides  amidst  the  tumults  of  Milan."  "  My  friends,'' 
replied  Petrarch,  "have  reason  to  arraign  my  conduct. 
Man  has  not  a  greater  enemy  than  himself.  I  acted 
arainst  my  taste  and  inclination.  Alas!  through  the 
whole  course  of  our  lives,  we  do  those  things  which 


OPON  THE  MIND.  59 

we  ought  not  to  have  done,  and  leave  undone  what 
most  we  wish  to  do."  But  Petrarch  might  have  told 
his  friends,  "  I  was  willing  to  convince  you  how  much 
a  mind,  long  exercised  in  solitude,  can  perform  when 
engaged  in  the  business  of  the  world  ;  how  much  a 
previous  retirement  enables  a  man  to  transact  the  af- 
fairs of  public  life  with  ease,  firmness,  dignity  and 
effect." 

The  courage  which  is  necessary  to  combat  the  pre- 
judices of  the  multitude,  is  only  to  be  acquired  by  a  con- 
tempt of  the  frivolous  transactions  of  the  world,  and, 
of  course  is  seldom  possessed,  except  by  solitary  men. 
Worldly  pursuits,  so  far  from  adding  strengh  to  the 
mind,  only  weaken  it ;  in  like  manner  as  any  particu 
lar  enjoyment  too  frequently  repeated,  dulls  the  edge 
of  the  appetite  for  every  pleasure.  How  often  do  the 
best  contrived  and  most  excellent  schemes  fail,  mere- 
ly for  want  of  sufficient  courage  to  surmount  the  diffi- 
culty which  attend  their  execution!— How  many  hap- 
py thoughts  have  been  stifled  in  their  birth,  from  an 
apprehension  that  they  were  too  bold  to  be  indulged  ! 

An  idea  has  prevailed,  that  truth  can  only  be  freely 
and  boldly  spoken  under  a  republican  form  of  govern- 
ment ;  but  this  idea  is  certainly  without  foundation. 
It  is  tnie,  that  in  aristocracies,  as  well  as  under  a  more 
open  form  of  government,  where  a  single  demagogue 
unfortunately  possesses  the  sovereign  power,  common 
srnse  is  too  frequently  construed  into  public  offence. 
Where  this  absurdity  exists,  the  mind  must  be  timid, 
and  the  people  in  consequence  deprived  of  their  liberty. 
In  a  monarchy  every  offence  is  punished  by  the  sword 
of  justice:  but  in  a  republic,  punishments  are  inflicted 
by  prejudices,  passions,  and  state  necessity.  The  first 
maxim  which,  under  a  republican  fcrm  of  government, 
parents  endeavor  to  instil  into  the  minds  of  their  chil- 
dren, is,  not  to  make  enemies ;  and  I  remember, 
when  I  was  very  young,  replying  to  this  sage  counsel, 
"  My  dear  mother,  do  you  not  know  that  he  who  has 
no  enemies  is  a  poor  man  ?"  In  a  republic  the  cit- 
izens are  under  the  authority  and  jealous  observation 
of  a  multitude  of  sovereigns ;  while  in  a  monarchy  the 
reigning  prince  is  the  only  man  whom  his  subjects  are 
bound  to  obey.  The  idea  of  living  under  the  control 
of  a  number  of  masters  intimidates  thernind ;  whereas 
love  and  confidence  in  one  alone,  raises  the  spirits  and 
renders  the  j>eoi>le  happy. 


00  INFLUENCE  OF  SOLITUDE 

But  in  all  countries,  and  under  every  form  of  gov- 
ernment, the  rational  man,  who  renounces  the  useless 
conversation  of  the  world,  who  lives  a  retired  life,  and 
who,  independently  of  all  that  he  sees,  of  all  that  he 
hears,  forms  his  notions  in  tranquillity,  by  an  inter- 
course with  the  heroes  of  Greece,  of  Rome,  and  of 
Great  Britain,  will  acquire  a  steady  and  uniform  cha- 
racter, obtain  a  noble  style  of  thinking,  and  rise  supe- 
rior to  every  vulgar  prejudice. 

These  are  the  observations  I  had  to  make  respecting 
the  influence  of  occasional  solitude  upon  the  miud- 
They  disclose  my  real  sentiments  on  this  subject  r 
many  of  them,  perhaps,  undigested,  and  many  more  cer- 
tainly not  well  expressed.  But  I  shall  console  myself 
for  these  defects,  if  this  chapter  affords  only  a  glimpse 
of  those  advantages,  which,  I  am  persuaded,  a  rational 
solitude  is  capable  of  affording  to  the  minds  and  man- 
ners of  men;  and  if  that  which  follows  shall  excite  a 
lively  sensation  of  the  true,  noble,  and  elevated  plea- 
sures retirement  is  capable  of  producing  by  a  tranquil 
and  feeling  contemplation  of  nature,  and  by  an  exqui- 
site sensibility  for  every  thing  that  is  good  and  fair 


CHAPTER  III. 

Influence  of  Solitude  upon  the  Heart. 

THE  highest  happiness  which  is  capable  of  being  en- 
joyed in  this  world,  consists  in  peace  of  mind.  ~The 
wise  mortal  who  renounces  the  tumults  of  the  world, 
restrains  his  desires  and  inclinations,  resigns  himself 
to  the  dispensations  of  his  Creator,  and  looks  with  an 
eye  of  pity  on  the  frailties  of  his  fellow  creatures ; 
whose  greatest  pleasure  is  to  listen  among  the  rocks  to 
the  soft  murmurs  of  a  cascade ;  to  inhale,  as  he  walks 
along  the  plains,  the  refreshing  breezes  of  the  zephyrs  ; 
and  to  dwell  in  the  surrounding  woods,  on  the  melodi- 
ous accents  of  the  aerial  choristers  ;  may,  by  the  sim- 
ple feelings  of  his  heart,  obtain  this  invaluable  blessing. 

To  taste  the  charms  of  retirement,  it  is  not  necessary 
to  divest  the  heart  of  its  emotions.  The  world  may  be 
renounced  without  renouncins  the  enjoyment  which 
the  tear  of  sensibility  is  capable  of  affording.  But  to 
render  the  heart  susceptible  of  this  felicity,  the  mind 


UPON  THE   HEART.  61 

must  be  able  to  admire  with  equal  pleasure  nature  in 
her  sublimest  beauties,  and  in  the  modest  flower  that 
decks  the  vallies ;  to  enjoy  at  the  same  time  that  har- 
monious combination  of  parts  which  expands  the  soul, 
and  those  detached  portions  of  the  whole  which  pre- 
sent the  softest  and  most  agreeable  images  to  the 
mind.  Nor  are  these  enjoyments  exclusively  reserved 
for  those  strong  and  energetic  bosoms  whose  sensations 
are  as  lively  as  they  are  delicate,  and  in  which,  for  that 
reason,  the  good  and  the  bad  make  the  same  impres- 
sion :  the  purest  happiness,  the  most  enchanting  tran- 
quillity, are  also  granted  to  men  of  colder  feelings,  and 
whose  imaginations  are  less  bold  and  lively ;  but  to 
such  characters  the  portraits  must  not  be  so  highly  col- 
ored, nor  the  tints  so  sharp ;  for  as  the  bad  strikes  them 
less,  so  also  they  are  less  susceptible  of  livelier  impres- 
sions. 

The  high  enjoyments  which  the  heart  feels  in  soli- 
tude are  derived  from  the  imagination.  The  touching 
aspect  of  delightful  nature,  the  variegated  verdure  of 
the  forests,  the  resounding  echoes  of  an  impetuous  tor- 
rent, the  soft  agitation  of  the  foliage,  the  warblings  of 
the  tenants  of  the  groves,  the  beautiful  scenery  of  a 
rich  and  extensive  country,  and  all  those  objects  which 
comi>ose  an  agreeable  landscape,  take  such  complete 
possession  of  the  soul,  and  so  entirely  absorb  our  facul- 
ties, that  the  sentiments  of  the  mind  are  by  the  charms 
of  the  imagination  instantly  converted  into  sensations 
of  the  heart,  and  the  softest  emotions  give  birth  to  the 
most  virtuous  and  worthy  sentiments.  But.  to  enable 
the  imagination  thus  to  render  every  object  fascinating 
and  delightful,  it  must  act  with  freedom,  and  dwell 
amidst  surrounding  tranquillity.  Oh !  how  easy  is  it 
to  renounce  noisy  pleasures  and  tumultuous  assemblies 
for  the  enjoyment  of  that  philosophic  melancholy  which 
solitude  inspires ! 

Religious  awe  and  rapturous  delight  are  alternately 
excited  by  the  deep  gloom  of  forests,  by  the  tremendous 
height  of  broken  rocks,  and  by  the  multiplicity  of  rna- 
jestic  and  sublime  objects  which  are  combined  within 
the  site  of  a  delightful  and  extensive  prospect.  The 
most  painful  sensations  immediately  yield  to  the  seri- 
ous, soft,  and  solitary  reveries  to  which  the  surround- 
ing tranquillity  invites  the  mind ;  while  the  vast  and 
awful  silence  of  nature  exhibits  the  happy  contrast  be 
tween  simplicity  and  grandeur;  and  as  our  feelings  be 
6 


62  INFLtTEXCE   OF  SOLITt'DE 

come  more  exquisite,  ?o  our  admiration  becomes  more 
intense,  and  our  pleasures  more  complete. 

I  had  been  for  many  years  familiar  with  all  that 
nature  is  capable  of  producing  in  her  sublimest  works, 
when  1  first  saw  a  garden  in  the  vicinity  of  Hanover  j 
and  another  upon  a  much  larger  scale  at  Marienwer- 
der,  about  three  miles  distant,  cultivated  in  the  English 
style  of  rural  ornament.  I  was  not  then  apprized  of 
the  extent  of  that  art  which  sports  with  the  most  un- 

frateful  soil,  and,  by  a  new  species  of  creation,  converts 
arren  mountains  into  fertile  fields  and  smiling  land- 
scapes. This  magic  art  makes  an  astonishing  impres- 
sion on  the  mind,  and  captivates  every  heart,  not  insen- 
sible to  the  delightful  charms  of  cultivated  nature.  I 
cannot  recollect  without  shedding  tears  of  gratitude 
and  joj,  a  single  day  of  this  early  part  of  my  residence 
in  Hanover,  when,  torn  from  the  bosom  of  my  coun- 
try, from  the  embraces  of  my  family,  and  from  every- 
thing that  I  held  dear  in  life,  my  mind,  on  entering  the 
little  garden  of  my  deceased  friend,  M.  de  Himiber, 
near  Hanover,  immediately  revived,  and  I  forgot,  for 
the  moment,  both  my  country  and  my  grief.  The 
charm  was  new  to  me.  I  had  no  conception  that  it 
was  possible,  upon  so  small  a  plot  of  ground,  to  intro- 
duce at  once  the  enchanting  variety  and  the  noble  sim- 
plicity of  nature.  But  I  was  then  convinced,  that  her 
aspect  alone  is  sufficient,  at  first  view,  to  heal  the  woun- 
ded feelings  of  the  heart,  to  fill  the  bosom  with  the 
highest  luxury,  and  to  create  those  sentiments  in  the 
mind,  which  can,  of  all  others,  render  life  desirable. 

This  new  re-union  of  art  and  nature,  which  was  not 
invented  in  China,  but  in  England,  is  founded  upon 
a  rational  and  refined  taste  for  the  beauties  of  nature, 
confirmed  by  experience,  and  by  the  sentiments  which 
a  chaste  fancy  reflects  on  a  feeling  heart. 

But  in  the  gardens  I  have  before  mentioned,  every 
point  of  view  raises  the  soul  to  heaven,  and  affords  the 
mind  sublime  delight ;  every  bank  presents  a  new  and 
varied  scene,  which  fills  the  heart  with  joy :  nor,  while 
I  feel  the  sensation  which  such  scenes  inspire,  will  I 
suffer  my  delight  to  be  diminished  by  discussing  whe- 
ther the  arrangement  might  have  been  made  in  a  bet- 
ter way,  or  permit  the  dull  rules  of  cold  and  senseless 
masters  to  destroy  my  pleasure.  Scenes  of  serenity, 
whether  created  by  tasteful  art.  or  by  the  cunning 
hand  of  nature,  always  bestow,  as  a  ctft  from  the  iraa- 


TPON  THE  HEART.  63 

gination,  tranquillity  to  the  neart.  While  a  soft  silence 
breathes  around  me.  every  object  is  pleasant  to  my 
view ;  rural  scenery  fixes  my  attention^  and  dissipates 
the  grief  that  lies  heavy  at  my  heart ;  the  loveliness  of 
solitude  enchants  me.  and,  subduing  every  vexation, 
inspires  my  soul  with  benevolence,  gratitude,  and  con- 
tent. I  return  thanks  to  my  Creator  for  endowing  me 
with  an  imagination,  which,  though  it  has  frequently 
caused  the  trouble  of  my  life,  occasionally  leads  me,  in 
the  hour  of  my  retirement,  to  some  friendly  rock,  on 
which  I  can  climb,  and  contemplate  with  greater  com- 
posure the  tempests  I  have  escaped. 

There  are,  indeed,  many  Anglicised  gardens  in  Ger- 
many, laid  out  so  whimsically  absurd,  as  to  excite  no 
other  emoti9iis  than  those  of  laughter  or  disgust.  How 
extremely  ridiculous  is  it  to  see  a  forest  of  poplars, 
scarcely  sufficient  to  supply  a  chamber  stove  with  fuel 
for  a  week ;  mere  molehills  dignified  with  the  name  of 
mountains ;  caves  and  aviaries,  in  which  tame  and 
savage  animals,  birds  and  amphibipus  creatures,  are  at- 
tempted to  be  represented  in  their  native  grandeur ; 
bridges,  of  various  kinds,  thrown  across  rivers,  which 
a  couple  of  ducks  would  drink  dry  ;  and  wooden  fishes 
swimming  in  canals,  which  the  pump  every  morning 
supplies  with  water  !  These  unnatural  beauties  are  in- 
capable of  affording  any  pleasure  to  the  imagination. 

A  celebrated  English  writer  has  said,  that  "  solitude, 
on  the  first  view  of  it,  inspires  the  mind  with  terror, 
because  every  thing  that  brings  with  it  the  idea  of  pri- 
vation is  terrific,  and  therefore  sublime  like  space, 
darkness,  and  silence." 

The  species  of  greatness  which  results  from  the  idea 
of  infinity,  can  only  be  rendered  delightful  by  being 
viewed  at  a  proper  distance.  The  Alps,  in  Swisserland, 
and  particularly  near  the  canton  of  Berne,  appear  in- 
conceivably majestic ;  but  on  a  near  approach,  they  ex- 
cite ideas  certainly  sublime,  yet  mingled  with  a  degree 
of  terror.  The  eye,  on  beholding  those  immense  and 
enormous  masses  piled  one  upon  the  other,  forming 
one  vast  and  uninterrupted  chain  of  mountains,  ana 
rearing  their  lofty  summits  to  the  skies,  conveys  to  the 
heart  the  most  rapturous  delight,  while  the  succession 
of  soft  and  lively  shades  which  they  throw  around  the 
scene,  tempers  the  impression,  and  renders  the  view  as 
agreeable  as  it  is  sublime.  On  the  contrary,  no  feeling 
heait  can  on  a  close  view,  behold  this  prodigious  wall 


64  INFLUENCE  OF  SOLITUDE 

of  rocks  without  experiencing  involuntary  trembling. 
The  mind  contemplates  with  affright  their  eternal 
snows,  their  steep  ascents,  their  dark  caverns,  the  tor- 
rents which  precipitate  themselves  with  deafen  ing  cla- 
mor from  their  summits,  the  black  forests  of  firs  that 
overhang  their  sides,  and  the  enormous  fragments  of 
rocks  which  time  and  tempests  have  torn  away.  How 
my  heart  thrilled  when  I  first  climbed  through  a  steep 
and  narrow  track  upon  these  sublime  deserts,  discover- 
ing every  step  I  made,  new  mountains  rising  over  my 
head,  while  upon  the  least  stumble,  death  menaced  ine 
in  a  thousand  shapes  below !  But  the  imagination  im- 
mediately kindles  when  you  perceive  yourself  in  the 
midst  of  this  grand  scene  of  nature,  and  reflect  from 
these  heights  on  the  weakness  of  hunifm  power,  and 
the  imbecility  of  the  greatest  monarchs  ! 

The  history  of  Swisserland  evinces,  that  the  natives 
of  these  mountains  are  not  a  degenerate  race  of  men, 
and  that  their  sentiments  are  as  generous  as  their  feel- 
ings are  warm.  Bold  and  spirited  by  nature,  the  liber- 
ty they  enjoy  gives  wings  to  their  souls,  and  they  tram- 
ple tyrants  and  tyranny  under  their  feet.  Some  of  the 
inhabitants  of  Swisserland,  indeed,  are  not  perfectly 
free ;  though  they  all  possess  notions  of  liberty,  love 
their  country,  and  return  thanks  to  the  Almighty  for 
that  happy  tranquillity  which  permits  each  individual 
to  live  quietly  under  his  vine,  and  enjoy  the  shade  of 
his  fig-tree :  but  the  most  pure  and  genuine  liberty  is 
always  to  be  found  among  the  inhabitants  of  these 
stupendous  mountains. 

The  Alps  in  Swisserland  are  inhabited  by  a  race  of 
men  sometimes  unsocial,  but  always  good  and  gene- 
rous. The  hardy  and  robust  characters  given  to  them 
by  the  severity  of  their  climate,  is  softened  by  pastoral 
life.  It  is  said  by  an  English  writer,  that  he  who  has 
never  heard  a  storm  in  the  Alps,  can  form  no  idea  of 
the  continuity  of  the  lightning,  the  rolling  and  the  burst 
of  the  thunder  which  roars  round  the  horizon  of  these 
immense  mountains ;  and  the  people  never  enjoying 
better  habitations  than  their  own  cabins,  nor  seeing  any 
other  country  than  their  own  rocks,  believe  the  uni- 
verse to  be  an  unfinished  work,  and  a  scene  of  unceas- 
ing tempest.  But  the  skies  do  not  always  lower ;  the 
thunder  does  not  incessantly  roll,  nor  the  lightnings 
continually  flash ;  immediately  after  the  most  dreadful 
tempests,  the  hemisphere  clears  itself  by  slow  degrees, 


UPON  THE  HEART.  65 

and  becomes  serene.  The  dispositions  of  the  Swiss 
follow  the  nature  of  their  climate ;  kindness  succeeds 
to  violence,  and  generosity  to  the  most  brutal  fury : 
this  may  be  easily  proved,  not  only  from  the  records  of 
history,  but  from  recent  facts. 

General  Redin,  an  inhabitant  of  the  Alps,  and  a  na- 
tive of  the  canton  of  Schwitz,  enlisted  very  early  in 
life  into  the  Swiss  Guards,  and  attained  the  rank  of 
lieutenant-general  in  that  corps.  His  long  residence 
at  Paris  and  Versailles,  however,  had  not  been  able  to 
change  his  character ;  he  still  continued  a  true  Swiss. 
The  new  regulation  made  by  the  king  of  France,  in  the 
year  1764,  relating  to  this  corps,  gave  great  discontent 
to  the  canton  of  Schwitz.  The  citizens,  considering  it 
as  an  innovation  extremely  prejudicial  to  their  ancient 
privileges,  threw  all  the  odium  of  the  measures  on  the 
lieutenant-general,  whose  wife,  at  this  period,  resided 
on  his  estate  in  the  canton,  where  she  endeavored  to 
raise  a  number  of  young  recruits  ;  but  the  sound  of  the 
French  drum  had  become  so  disgusting  to  the  ears  of 
the  citizens,  that  they  beheld  with  indignation  the  white 
cockade  placed  in  the  hats  of  the  deluded  peasants. 
The  magistrate  apprehensive  that  this  ferment  mia-ht 
ultimately  cause  an  insurrection  among  the  people,  felt 
it  his  duty  to  forbid  madame  de  Redin  to  continue  her 
levies.  The  lady  requested  he  would  certify  his  prohi- 
bition in  writing  ;  but  the  magistrate  not  being  dispo- 
sed to  carry  matters  to  this  extremity  against  the  court 
of  France,  she  continued  to  beat  up  for  the  requested 
number  of  recruits.  The  inhabitants  of  the  canton,  ir- 
ritated by  this  bold  defiance  of  the  prohibition,  sum- 
moned a  General  Diet,  and  madame  de  Redin  appeared 
before  the  Assembly  of  Four  Thousand.  "  The  drum," 
said  she,  "  shall  never  cease  to  sound,  until  you  give 
me  such  a  certificate  as  may  justify  my  husband  to  the 
French  court  for  not  completing  the  number  of  his 
men."  The  Assembly  accordingly  granted  her  the  re- 
quired certificate,  and  enjoining  her  to  procure  the  in- 
terest and  interposition  of  her  husband  with  the  court 
in  favor  of  her  injured  country,  waited  in  anxious  ex- 
pectation that  his  negotiation  would  produce  a  favora- 
ble issue.  Unhappily  the  court  of  Versailles  rejected 
all  solicitation  on  the  subject,  and  by  this  means  drove 
the  irritated  and  impatient  inhabitants  beyond  the 
bounds  of  restraint.  The  leading  men  of  the  canton 
pretended  vhat  the  new  regulation  endangered  not  only 
6* 


•   J* 

66  INFLUENCE  OP  SOLITUDE 

their  civil  liberties,  but,  what  was  dearer  to  them,  their 
religion.  The  general  discontent  was  at  length  fo- 
mented into  popular  fury.  A  General  Diet  was  again 
assembled,  and  it  was  publicly  resolved  not  to  furnish 
the  King  of  France  in  future  with  any  troops.  The 
treaty  of  alliance  concluded  in  the  year  1713  was  torn 
from  the  public  register,  and  general  de  Redin  ordered 
instantly  to  return  from  France  with  the  soldiers  under 
his  command,  upon  pain,  if  he  refused,  of  being  irrevo- 
cably banished  from  the  republic.  The  obedient  gene- 
ral obtained  permission  from  the  king  to  depart  with 
his  regiment  from  France,  and  entering  Schwitz,  the 
metropolis  of  the  canton,  at  the  head  of  his  troops,  with 
drums  beating  and  colors  flying,  marched  immediate- 
ly to  the  church,  where  he  deposited  his  standards 
upon  the  great  altar,  and  falling  on  his  knees,  offered 
up  his  thanks  to  God.  Rising  from  the  ground,  and 
turning  to  his  affectionate  soldiers,  who  were  dissolved 
in  tears,  he  discharged  their  arrears  of  pay,  gave  them 
their  uniforms  and  accoutrements,  and  bid  them  forev- 
er farewell.  The  fury  of  the  populace,  on  perceiving 
within  their  power  the  man  whom  the  whole  country 
considered  as  the  perfidious  abettor,  and  traitorous 
adviser,  of  the  new  regulation,  by  which  the  court  of 
Versailles  had  given  such  a  mortal  blow  to  the  liberties 
of  the  country,  greatly  increased ;  and  he  was  ordered 
to  disclose  before  the  General  Assembly  the  origin  of 
that  measure,  and  the  means  by  which  it  had  been  car- 
ried on,  in  order  that  they  might  learn  their  relative 
situation  with  France,  and  ascertain  the  degree  of  pun- 
ishment that  was  due  to  the  offender.  Redin,  conscious 
that,  under  the  existing  circumstances,  eloquence  would 
make  no  impression  on  minds  so  prejudiced  against 
him,  contented  himself  with  cooly  declaring,  irTa  few 
words,  that  the  cause  of  framing  a  new  regulation  was 
publicly  known,  and  that  he  was  as  innocent  upon  the 
subject  as  he  was  ignorant  of  the  cause  of  his  dismis- 
sion. "  The  traitor  then  will  not  confess  !"  exclaimed 
one  of  the  most  furious  members :  "  Hang  him  on  the 
next  tree— cut  him  to  pieces."  These  menaces  were 
instantly  repeated  throughout  the  Assembly;  and 
while  the  injured  soldier  continued  perfectly  tranquil 
and  undismayed,  a  party  of  the  people,  more  darin"1 
than  the  rest,  jumped  upon  the  tribune,  where  be  stood 
surrounded  by  the  judges.  A  young  man,  hw  godson, 
was  holding  a  parapluie  over  his  head,  to  shelter  him 


UPON  THE  HEART.  67 

from  the  rain,  which  at  this  moment  poured  down  in 
incessant  torrents,  when  one  of  the  enraged  multitude 
immediately  broke  the  parapluie  in  pieces  with  his 
stick,  exclaiming-,  "Let  the  traitor  be  uncovered!" 
This  exclamation  conveyed  a  correspondent  indigna- 
tion into  the  bosom  of  the  youth,  who  instantly  replied, 
"  My  god-father  a  betrayer  of  his  country  !  Oh !  I  was 
ignorant,  I  assure  you,  of  the  crime  alleged  against 
him  ;  but  since  it  is  so,  let  him  perish  !  Where  is  the 
rope  ?  I  will  be  first  to  put  it  round  the  traitor's  neck !" 
The  magistrates  instantly  formed  a  circle  round  the 
general,  and  with  uplifted  hands  exhorted  him  to  avert 
the  impending  danger,  by  confessing  that  he  had  not 
opposed  the  measures  of  France  with  sufficient  zeal, 
and  to  offer  to  the  offended  people  his  whole  fortune  as 
an  atonement  for  his  neglect ;  representing  to  him  that 
these  were  the  only  means  of  redeeming  his  liberty, 
and  perhaps  his  life.  The  undaunted  soldier,  with  per- 
fect tranquillity  and  composure,  walked  through  the 
surrounding  circle  to  the  side  of  the  tribune,  and  while 
the  whole  ^Assembly  anxipusly  expected  to  hear  an 
ample  confession  of  his  guilt,  made  a  sign  of  silence 
with  his  hand:  "Fellow-citizens,"  said  he,  "you  are 
not  isnoratit  that  I  have  been  two-and-forty  years  in 
the  French  establishment.  You  know,  and  many 
among  you,  who  were  with  me  in  the  service,  can  tes- 
tify its  truth,  how  often  I  have  faced  the  enenrn  and 
the  manner  in  wh&h  I  conducted  myself  in  battle.  I 
considered  eveiy  engagement  as  the  last  day  of  my 
life.  But  lipi'e  I  protest  to  you,  in  the  presence  of  that 
Almightv-  Being  who  knows  all  our  hearts,  who  lis- 
tens to  all  our  words,  and  who  will  hereafter  judge  all 
our  actions,  that  I  never  appeared  before  an  enemy  with 
a  mind  more  pure,  a  conscience  more  tranquil,  a  heart 
more  innocent,  than  at  present  I  possess ;  and  if  it  is 
your  pleasure  to  condemn  me  because  I  refuse  to  con- 
fess a  treachery  of  which  I  have  not  been  guilty,  I 
am  now  ready  to  resign  my  life  into  your  hands." 
The  dignified  demeanor  with  which  the  general  made 
this  declaration,  and  the  air  of  truth  which  accompanied 
his  words,  calmed  the  fury  of  the  Assembly,  and  saved 
his  life.  Both  he  and  his  wife,  however,  immediately 
quitted  the  canton ;  she  entering  into  a  convent  at  Uri, 
and  he  retiring  to  a  cavern  among  the  rocks,  where 
he  lived  two  years  in  solitude.  _Time,  at  length,  sub- 


68  INFLUENCE  OF  SOLITUDE 

dued  the  ang er  of  the  people,  and  softened  the  general's 
sense  of  their  injustice.  He  returned  to  the  bosom  of 
his  country,  rewarded  its  ingratitude  by  the  most  sig- 
nal services,  and  made  every  individual  recollect  and 
acknowledge  the  integrity  of  their  magnanimous  coun- 
tryman. To  recompense  him  for  the  injuries  and  in- 
justice he  had  suffered,  they  elected  him  bailli,  or  chief 
officer  of  the  canton ;  and  afforded  him  an  almost  sin- 
gular instance  of  their  constancy  and  affection,  by  suc- 
cessively conferring  on  him  three  times  this  high  and 
important  dignity.  This  is  the  characteristic  disposi- 
tion of  the  Swiss  who  inhabit  the  Alps :  alternately 
violent  and  mild :  and  experiencing,  as  me  extremes 
Of  a  delighted  or  vexed  imagination  happen  to  prevail, 
the  same  vicissitudes  as  their  climate.  The  rude 
scenes  of  of  greatness  which  these  stupendous  moun- 
tains and  vast  deserts  afford,  render  the  Swiss  violent 
in  sentiment,  and  rough  in  manners  ;  while  the  tran- 
quillity of  their  fields,  and  the  smiling  beauties  of  their 
vallies,  soften  their  minds,  and  render  their  hearts  kind 
and  benevolent. 

English  artists  confess  that  the  aspect  of  nature  in 
Swisserland  is  too  sublime  and  majestic  for  the  pencil 
of  art  faithfully  to  reach  -,  but  how  exquisite  must  be 
the  enjoyments  they  feel  upon  those  romantic  hills,  in 
those  delightful  vallies,  upon  the  charming  borders  of 
those  still  and  transparent  lakes,  where  nature  unfolds 
her  various  charms,  and  appears  in  the  highest  pomp 
and  splendor ;  where  the  majestic  oa\s,  the  deep  em- 
bowering elms,  and  dark  green  firs,  wbitJj  cover  and 
adorn  these  immense  forests,  are  pleasingly  intersper- 
sed with  myrtles,  almond  trees,  jasmines,  pomegran- 
ates, and  vines,  which  offer  their  humbler  beauties  to 
the  view,  and  variegate  the  scene!  Nature  is  in  no 
country  of  the  globe  more  rich  and  various  than  in 
Swisserland.  It  was  the  scenery  around  Zurich,  and 
the  beauties  of  its  adjoining  lake,  that  first  inspired  the 
Idylls  of  the  immortal  Gessner. 

These  sublime  beauties,  while  they  elevate  and  in- 
flame the  heart,  give  greater  action  and  life  to  the  ima- 
gination than  softer  scenes ;  in  like  manner  as  a  fine 
night  affords  a  more  august  and  solemn  spectacle  than 
the  mildest  day. 

In  coming  from  Frescati,  by  the  borders  of  the  small 
lake  of  Nemi,  which  lies  in  a  deep  valley,  so  closely 
sheltered  by  mountains  and  forest,  that  the  winds  are 


UPON  THE  HEART.  69 

scarcely  permitted  to  disturb  its  surface,  it  is  impossi- 
ble not  to  exclaim  with  an  English  poet,  that  here— 

"  Black  melancholy  sits,  and  round  her  throws 
A  death-like  silence,  ana  a  dread  repose : 
Her  gloomy  presence  saddens  all  the  scene, 
Shades  every  flower,  and  darkens  every  green ; 
Deepens  the  murmurs  of  the  falling  floods, 
And  breathes  a  browner  horror  on  the  woods." 

But  how  the  soul  expands,  and  every  thought  be- 
comes serene  and  free,  when,  from  the  garden  of  the 
Capuchins,  near  Albano,  the  eye  suddenly  discovers 
the  little  melancholy  lake,  with  Frescati  and  all  its  ru- 
ral vallies  on  one  side:  on  the  other,  the  handsome 
city  of  Albano,  the  village  and  castle  of  Riccia  and 
Gensano,  with  their  hills  beautifully  adorned  with 
clusters  of  the  richest  vines:  below,  the  extensive 
plains  of  Campania,  in  the  middle  of  which  Rome, 
formerly  the  mistress  of  the  world,  raises  its  majestic 
head ;  and  lastly,  beyond  all  these  objects,  the  hills  of 
Tivoli,  the  Appenines,  and  the  Mediterranean  sea ! 

How  often,  on  the  approach  of  spring,  has  the  mag- 
nificent valley,  where  the  ruins  of  the  residence  of 
Rodolpho  de  Hapsburg  rise  upon  the  side  of  a  hill, 
crowned  with  woods  of  variegated  verdure,  afforded 
me  the  purest  and  most  ineffable  delight !  There  the 
rapid  Aar  descends  in  torrents  from  the  lofty  moun- 
tains ;  sometimes  forming  a  vast  basin  in  the  vale ;  at 
others,  precipitating  through  the  narrow  passages 
across  the  rocks,  winding  its  course  majestically 
through  the  middle  of  the  vast  and  fertile  plains :  on 
the  other  side  the  Ruffs,  and,  lower  down,  the  Limmat, 
bring  their  tributary  streams,  and  peaceably  unite  them 
with  the  waters  of  the  Aar.  In  the  middle  of  this  rich 
and  verdant  scene,  I  beheld  the  Royal  Solitude,  where 
the  remains  of  the  emperor  Albert  I.  repose  in  silence, 
with  those  of  many  princes  of  the  house  of  Austria, 
counts,  knights,  ana  gentlemen,  killed  in  battle  by  the 
gallant  Swiss.  At  a  distance  I  discovered  the  valley 
where  lie  the  ruins  of  the  celebrated  city  of  Vindonis- 
sa,  upon  which  I  have  frequently  sat,  and  reflected 
upon  the  vanity  of  human  greatness.  Beyond  this 
magnificent  country,  ancient  cables  raise  their  lofty 
heads  upon  the  hills !  and  the  far  distant  horizon  is 
terminated  by  the  sublime  summits  of  the  Alps.  In 
the  midst  of  all  this  grand  scenery,  my  eyes  were  in- 


70  INFLUENCE   OF   SOLITCDB 

stinctively  cast  down  into  the  deep  valley  immediate!? 
below  mo,  and  continually  fixed  upon  the  little  village 
where  I  first  drew  my  breath.  It  is  thus  that  the  sub- 
lime or  beautiful  operates  differently  on  the  heart !  the 
one  exciting  fear  and  terror,  the  other  creating  only 
soft  and  agreeable  sensations ;  but  both  tending  to  en- 
large the  sphere  of  the  imagination,  and  enabling  us 
more  completely  to  seek  enjoyment  within  ourselves. 

Pleasures  of  this  description  may,  indeed  be  enjoyed, 
without  visiting  the  romantic  solitudes  of  either  Swis- 
serland  of  Italy.  There  is  no  person  who  may  not, 
while  he  is  quietly  traversing  the  hills  and  dales,  learn 
to  feel  how  much  the  aspect  of  nature  may,  by  the  as- 
sistance of  the  imagination,  affect  the  heart.  A  fine 
view,  the  freshness  of  the  air,  an  unclouded  sky,  and 
the  joys  of  the  chase,  give  sensations  of  health,  and 
make  every  step  seem  too  short.  The  privation  of  all 
ideas  of  dependance,  accompanied  by  domestic  comfort, 
useful  employments,  and  innocent  recreations,  produce 
a  strength  of  thought,  and  fertility  of  imagination, 
which  present  to  the  mind  the  most  agreeable  images, 
and  touch  the  heart  with  the  most  delightful  sensa- 
tions. It  is  certainly  true,  that  a  person  possessed  of  a 
fine  imagination  may  be  much  happier  in  prison,  than 
he  could  possibly  be  without  imagination  amidst  the 
most  magnificent  scenery.  But  even  to  a  mind  de- 
prived of  this  happy  faculty,  the  lowest  enjoyments  of 
rural  life,  even  the  common  scenery  of  harvest  time,  is 
capable  of  performing  miracles  on  his  heart.  Alas ! 
who  has  not  experienced,  in  the  hours  of  langor  and 
disgust,  the  powerful  effects  which  a  contemplation  of 
the  pleasures  that  surround  the  poorest  peasant's  cot  is 
-caj^ible  of  affording !  How  fondly  the  heart  partici- 
pates in  all  his  homely  joys!  \\ith  what  freedom, 
cordiality,  and  kindness,  we  take  him  by  the  hand,  and 
listen  to  his  innocent  and  artless  tales  ! — How  sudden- 
ly do  we  feel  an  interest  in  all  his  little  concerns;  an 
interest  which,  while  it  unveils,  refines  and  meliorates 
the  latent  inclinations  of  our  hearts ! 

The  tranquillity  of  retired  life,  and  the  view  of  rural 
Rcenes,  frequently  produce  a  quietude  of  disposition, 
which,  while  it  renders  the  noisy  pleasures  of  the  world 
insipid,  enables  the  heart  to  seek  the  charms  of  solitude 
with  increased  delight. 

The  happy  indolence  peculiar  to  Italians,  who,  nder 
the  pleasures  qf  a  clear,  unclouded  sky,  are  always  poor 


tTPON   THE  HEAfif;  ?1 

but  never  miserable,  greatly  augments  the  feelings  of 
the  heart :  the  mildness  of  the  climate,  the  fertility  of 
their  soil,  their  peaceful  religion,  and  their  contented 
nature,  compensate  for  every  thing.  Dr.  Moore,  an 
English  traveller,  whose  works  afford  me  great  delight  j 
says,  that  "the  Italians  are  the  greatest  loungers  in  the 
world  ;  and  while  walking  in  the  fields,  or  stretched  in 
the  shade,  seem  to  enjoy  the  serenity  and  genial 
ivarrath  of  their  climate  with  a  degree  of  luxurious  in- 
dulgence peculiar  to  themselves.  Without  ever  run- 
ning into  the  daring  excesses  of  the  English,  or  display- 
ing the  frisky  vivacity  of  the  French,  or  the  stubborn 
phlegm  of  the  Germans,  the  Italian  populace  discover 
a  species  of  sedate  sensibility  to  every  source  of  enjoy- 
ment, from  which,  perhai>s,  they  derive  a  greater  de* 
gree  of  happiness  than  any  of  the  others." 

Relieved  from  every  afflicting  and  tormenting  object 
it  is,  perhaps,  impossible  for  the  mind  not  to  resign  it- 
self to  agreeable  chimeras  and  romantic  sentiments} 
but  this  situation  notwithstanding  these  disadvantages, 
has  its  fair  side.  Romantic  speculations  may  lead  the 
mind  into  certain  extravagancies  and  errors  from 
whence  base  and  contemptible  passions  mav  be  engen- 
dered ;  may  habituate  it  to  a  light  and  frivolous  style  of 
thinking;  and,  by  preventing  it  from  directing  its  fa-< 
culties  to  rational  ends,  may  obscure  the  prospect  of 
true  happiness  ;  for  the  soul  cannot  easily  quit  the  illu- 
sion On  which  it  dwells  with  such  fond  delight ;  the  or- 
dinary duties  of  life,  with  its  more  noble  and  substan- 
tial pleasures,  are  perhaps  thereby  obstructed  :  but  it  is 
very  certain  that  romantic  sentiments  do  not  always 
render  the  mind  that  possesses  them  unhappy.  "Who, 
alas !  is  so  completely  happy  in  reality  as  he  frequently 
has  been  in  imagination  ! 

Rousseau,  who,  in  the  early  part  of  his  life,  was  ex* 
tremely  fond  of  romances,  feeling  his  mind  hurried 
away  by  the  love  of  those  imaginary  objects  with  which 
that  species  of  composition  abounds,  and  perceiving 
the  facility  with  which  thcv  may  be  enjoyed,  withdrew 
his  attention  from  every  thing  about  him,  and  by  this 
circumstance  laid  the  foundation  of  that  taste  for  soli- 
tude which  he  preserved  to  an  advanced  period  of  his 
life ;  a  taste  in  appearance  dictated  by  depression  and 
disgust,  and  attributed  by  him  to  the  irresistible  im- 
pulse of  an  affectionate,  fond,  and  tender  heart,  which, 
not  being  able  to  find  in  the  regions  of  philosophy  and 


3  INFLUENCE  OF  SOLITUDE 

truth  sentiments  sufficiently  warm  and  animated,  was 
constrained  to  seek  its  enjoyments  in  the  sphere  of 
fiction. 

But  the  imagination,  may,  in  retirement,  indulge  its 
wanderings  to  a  certain  degree  without  the  risk  of  in- 
juring either  the  sentiments  of  the  mind  or  the  sensa- 
tions of  the  heart.  Oh !  if  the  friends  of  my  youth  in 
Swisserland  knew  ho-vy  frequently,  during  the  silence 
of  the  night,  I  pass  with  them  those  hours  which  are 
allotted  to  sleep ;  if  they  were  apprized  that  neither 
time  nor  absence  can  efface  the  remembrance  of  their 
former  kindness  from  my  mind,  and  that  this  pleasing 
recollection  tends  to  dissipate  my  grief,  and  to  cast  the 
veil  of  oblivion  over  my  woes ;  they  would,  perhaps, 
also  rejoice  to  find  that  I  still  live  among  them  in  ima- 
gination, though  I  may  be  dead  to  them  in  reality. 

The  solitary  man,  whose  heart  is  warmed  with  re- 
fined and  noble  sentiments,  cannot  be  unhappy. — While 
the  stupid  and  vulgar  bewail  his  fate,  and  conceive 
him  to  be  the  victim  of  corroding  care  and  loathed  me- 
lancholy, he  frequently  tastes  the  most  delightful  plea- 
sure. The  French  entertained  a  notion  that  Rousseau 
was  a  man  of  a  gloomy  and  dejected  disposition ;  but  he 
was  certainly  not  so  for  many  years  of  his  life,  particu- 
larly when  he  wrote  to  M.  de  Malesherbes,  the  chan- 
cellor's son,  in  the  following  terms :  "  I  cannot  exj  .rr*s 
to  you,  Sir,  how  sensibly  I  am  affected  by  perceiving 
that  you  think  me  the  most  unhappy  of  mankind;  for 
as  the  public  will,  no  doubt,  entertain  the  same  senti- 
ment of  me  as  you  do,  it  is  to  me  a  source  of  real  afflic- 
tion!— Oh !  if  my  sentiments  were  really  known,  every 
individual  would  endeavor  to  follow  my  example. 
Peace  would  then  reign  throughout  the  world ;  men 
would  no  longer  seek  to  destroy  each  other;  and  wick- 
edness, by  removing  the  great  incentives  to  it,  no  lon- 
ger exist.  But  it  may  be  asked,  how  I  could  find  em- 
ployment in  solitude? — I  answer,  in  my  own  mind;  in 
the  whole  universe ;  in  every  thing  that  dies,  in  every 
thing  that  can  exist ;  in  all  that  the  eye  finds  beautiful 
in  the  real,  or  the  imagination  in  the  intellectual  world. 
I  assembled  about  me  every  thing  that  is  flattering  to 
the  heart,  and  regulated  my  pleasures  by  the  moderation 
of  my  desires.  No!  The  most  voluptuous  have  never  ex- 
perienced such  refined  delights;  and  I  have  always  en- 
joyed my  chimeras  much  more  than  if  they  had  beea 
realized." 


UPON  THE  HEART.  73 

This  is  certainly  the  language  of  enthusiasm ;  but^ 
ye  stupid  vulgar !  who  would  not  prefer  the  warm  fan- 
cy of  this  amiable  philosopher  to  your  cold  and  creep- 
ing understandings? — Who  would  not  willingly  re- 
nounce your  vague  conversation,  your  deceitful  felici- 
ties, your  boasted  urbanity,  your  noisy  assemblies,  pue- 
rile pastimes,  and  inveterate  prejudices,  for  a  quiet  and 
contented  life  in  the  bosom  of  a  happy  family  ? — "Who 
would  not  rather  seek  in  the  silence  of  the  woods,  or 
upon  the  daisied  borders  of  a  peaceful  lake,  those  pure 
and  simple  pleasures  of  nature,  so  delicious  in  recollec- 
tion, and  productive  of  joys  so  pure,  so  affecting,  so  dif- 
ferent from  your  own  ? 

Eclogues,  which  are  representatives  of  rural  happf- 
ness  in  its  highest  perfection,  are  also  fictions ;  but 
they  are  fictions  of  the  most  pleasing  and  agreeable 
kind.  True  felicity  must  be  sought  in  retirement, 
where  the  soul,  disengaged  from  the  torments  of  the 
world,  no  longer  feels  those  artificial  desires  which 
render  it  unhappy  both  in  prospect  and  fruition.  Con- 
tent with  little,  satisfied  with  all,  surrounded  by  love 
and  innocence,  we  perceive  in  retirement,  the  golden 
asre,  as  described  by  the  poets,  revived ;  while  in  the 
world  every  one  regrets  its  loss.  The  regret  however, 
js  unjust ;  for  those  enjoyments  were  not  peculiar  to 
that  happy  period  ;  and  each  individual  may,  whenever 
he  pleases,  form  his  own  Arcadia.  The  beauties  of  a 
crystal  spring,  a  silent  grove,  a  daisied  meadow,  chas- 
ten the  feelings  of  the  heart,  and  afford  at  all  times,  to 
those  who  have  a  taste  for  nature,  a  permanent  and 
jiu  re  delight. 

"  The  origin  of  poetry,"  says  Pope,  "  is  ascribed  to 
that  age  which  succeeded  the  creation  of  the  world : 
as  the  keeping  of  flocks  seems  to  have  been  the  first 
employment  of  mankind,  the  most  ancient  sort  of  poe- 
try was  pastoral.  It  is  natural  to  imagine,  that  the  lei-- 
sure of  these  ancient  shepherds  admitting  and  invhinsf 
some  diversion,  none  was  so  proper  to  that  solitary 
and  sedentary  life  as  singing,  and  that  in  their  songs 
they  took  occasion  to  celebrate  their  own  felicity. 
From  hence  a  poem  was  invented,  and  afterward  im- 
proved to  a  perfect  image  of  that  happy  time,  which, 
by  giving  us  an  esteem  for  the  virtues  of  a  former  age, 
jnisrht  recommend  them  to  the  present." 

These  agreeable  though  fictitious  descriptions  of  the 
age  of  innocence  and  virtue,  communicate  joy  and 


74  INFLUENCE  OF  SOLITUDE 

gladness  to  our  hearts ;  and  we  bless  the  poet,  who,  in 
the  ecstacy  of  his  felicity  contributes  to  render  others 
as  happy  as  himself.  Sicily  and  Zurich  have  produced 
two  of  these  benefactors  to  mankind.  The  aspect  of 
nature  never  appears  more  charming,  the  bosom  never 
heaves  with  such  sweet  delight,  the  heart  never  beats 
more  pleasantly,  the  soul  never  feels  more  perfect  hap- 
piness than  is  produced  by  reading  the  Idylls  of  Theo- 
critus and  Gessner. 

By  these  easy  simple  modes  the  beauties  of  nature  are 
made,  by  the  assistance  of  the  imagination,  to  operate 
forcibly  on  the  heart.  The  mind,  indeed,  drawn  away 
by  these  agreeable  images,  often  resigns  itself  too  easi- 
ly to  the  illusions  of  romance ;  but  the  ideas  they  create 
generally  amend  the  heart  without  injuring  the  under- 
standing, and  spread  some  of  the  sweetest  flowers  along 
the  most  thorny  paths  of  human  life. 

Leisure,  the  highest  happiness  upon  earth,  is  seldom 
enjoyed  with  perfect  satisfaction,  except  in  solitude. 
Indolence  and  indifference  do  not  always  afford  leisure  : 
for  true  leisure  is  frequently  found  in  that  interval  of 
relaxation  which  divides  a  painful  duty  from  the  agree- 
able occupations  of  literature  and  philosophy.  P.  Scipio 
was  of  this  opinion  when  he  said,  that  he  was  never  less 
idle  when  he  had  most  leisure,  and  that  he  was  never 
less  alone  than  when  he  was  alone.  Leisure  is  not  to 
be  considered  a  state  of  intellectual  torpidity,  but  a  new 
incentive  to  further  activity  ;  it  is  sought  by  strong  and 
energetic  minds,  not  as  an  end,  but  as  a  means  of  re- 
storing lost  activity  ;  for  whoever  seeks  happiness  in  a 
situation  merely  quiescent,  seeks  for  a  phantom  that 
will  elude  his  grasp.  Leisure  will  never  be  found  in 
mere  rest;  but  will  follow  those  who  sieze  the  first  im- 
pulse to  activity;  in  which,  however,  such  employ- 
ments as  best  suit  the  extent  and  nature  of  different  ca- 
pacities, must  be  preferred  to  those  which  promise  com- 
pensation without  labor,  and  enjoyment  without  pain. 

Thus  rural  retirement  dries  up  those  streams  of  dis- 
content which  flow  so  plentifully  through  public  life ; 
changes  most  frequently  the  bitterest  feeling  into  the 
sweetest  pleasures;  and  inspires  an  ecstacy  and  con- 
tent unknown  to  the  votaries  of  the  world.  The  tran- 
quillity of  nature  buries  in  oblivion  the  criminal  incli- 
nations of  the  heart ;  renders  it  blithe,  tender,  open,  and 
confident ;  and,  by  wisely  managing  the  passions,  and 
preventing  an  overheated  imagination  from  fabricating 


UPON  THE  HEART.  75 

fancied  woes,  strengthens  in  it  every  virtuous  sensa- 
tions, 

In  towns,  the  solitude  which  is  necessary  to  pro- 
duce this  advantage  cannot  be  conveniently  practised. 
It  seems  indeed,  no  very  difficult  task  for  a  man  to  re- 
tire into  his  chamber,  and  by  silent  contemplation,  to' 
raise  his  mind  above  the  mean  consideration  of  sen- 
sual objects  ;  but  few  men  have  sufficient  resolution  to 
perform  it ;  for,  within  doors,  matters  of  business  eve- 
ry moment  occur,  and  interrupt  the  chain  of  reflection; 
and  without,  whether  alone  or  in  company,  a  variety  of 
accidents  may  occasionally  happen,  which  will  con- 
found our  vain  wisdom,  aggravate  the  painful  feelings 
of  the  heart,  and  weaken  the  finer  powers  of  the 
mind. 

Rousseau  was  always  miserable  during  his  residence 
at  Paris.  This  extraordinary  genius,  it  is  true,  wrote 
his  immortal  works  in  that  agitated  metropolis ;  but  the 
moment  he  quitted  his  study,  and  wandered  through 
the  streets,  his  mind  was  bewildered  by  a  variety  of 
heterogeneous  sentiments,  his  recollection  vanished  ; 
and  this  brilliant  writer  and  profound  philosopher,  who 
was  so  intimately  acquainted  with  the  most  intricate 
labyrinths  of  the  human  heart,  was  reduced  to  the  con- 
dition of  a  child.  But  in  the  country  we  issue  from  the 
house  in  perfect  safety,  and  feel  increasing  cheerful- 
ness and  satisfaction.  Tired  with  meditation,  the 
rural  recluse  has  only  to  open  the  doors  of  his  study, 
and  enjoy  his  walk,  while  tranquillity  attends  his  steps, 
and  new  pleasures  present  themselves  to  his  view  on 
every  turn.  Beloved  by  all  around  him,  he  extends 
his  hand  with  cordial  affection  to  every  man  he  meets. 
Nothing  occurs  to  vex  and  irritate  his  mind.  He  runs 
no  risk  of  being  tortured  by  the  supercilious  behavior 
of  some  haughty  female  proud  of  her  descent,  or  of 
enduring  the  arrogant  egotism  of  an  upstart  peer :  is 
in  no  danger  of  being  crushed  beneath  the  rolling  car- 
riages of  Indian  nabobs :  nor  dares  frontless  vice,  on 
the  authority  of  mouldy  parchments,  attack  his  proper- 
ty, or  presumptuous  ignorance  offer  the  least  indignity 
to  his  modest  virtue. 

A  man,  indeed,  by  avoiding  the  tumultuous  inter- 
C9iirse  of  society,  and  deriving  his  comforts  from 
his  own  breast,  may,  even  in  Paris,  or  any  other- 
metropolis,  avoid  these  unpleasant  apprehensions,  if 
his  nerves  be  firm,  and  his  constitution  strong: 


76  INFLUENCE  OF  SOLITUDE 

for  to  a  frame  disjointed  by  nervous  affections  every 
object  is  irritating,  and  every  passion  tremblingly  alive. 
The  passions  are  the  gales  by  which  man  must  steer 
his  course  through  the  troubled  ocean  of  life;  they  fill 
the  sails  which  give  motion  to  the  soul;  and  when 
they  become  turbulent  and  impetuous,  the  vessel  is  al- 
ways in  danger,  and  generally  runs  aground.  The 
petty  cares  arid  trifling  vexations  of  life,  however,  give 
but  shortlived  disturbance  to  a  heart  free  from  remorse. 
Philosophy  teaches  us  to  forget  past  uneasiness,  to  for- 
bear idle  speculations  of  approaching  felicity,  and  to 
rest  contented  with  present  comforts,  without  refining 
away  our  existing  happiness  by  wishing  that  which  is 
really  good  to  be  still  better.  Every  thing  is  much  bet- 
ter than  we  imagine.  A  mind  too  anxious  in  the  ex- 
pectation of  happiness  is  seldom  satisfied,  and  general- 
ly mixes  with  its  highest  fruition  a  certain  portion  of 
discontent.  The  stream  of  content  must  flow  from  a 
deliberate  disposition  in  our  minds  to  learn  what  is 
good,  and  a  determined  resolution  to  seek  for  and 
enjoy  it,  however  small  the  portion  may  be. 

The  content,  however,  which  men  in  general  so  con- 
fidently expect  to  find  in  rural  retirement,  is  not  to  be 
acquired  by  viewing  objects  either  with  indiscriminate 
admiration  or  supine  indifference.  He  who  without  la- 
bor, and  without  a  system  of  conduct  previously  di- 
gested and  arranged,  hopes  for  happiness  in  solitude, 
will  yawn  with  equal  fatigue  at  his  cqttasre  in  the  coun- 
try and  his  mansion  in  town ;  while  ne  who  keeps 
himself  continually  employed,  may  in  the  deepest  soli- 
tude, by  the  mere  dint  of  labor,  attain  true  tranquillity 
and  happiness. 

Petrarch,  in  his  solitude  at  Vaucluse,  would  have  ex- 
perienced this  tranquillity,  if  his  bosom  had  not  been 
disturbed  by  love  ;  for  Jbe  perfectly  understood  the  art 
of  managing  his  time.  "  I  rise,"  said  he,  "  before  the 
sun,  and  on  the  approach  of  day  wander  contemplative- 
ly along  the  fields,  or  retire  to  study.  I  read,  I  write, 
I  think,  I  vanquish  indolence,  banish  sleep,  avoid  luxu- 
ry, and  forget  sensuality.  From  morning  till  night  I 
climb  the  barren  mountains,  traverse  the  humid  rallies, 
seek  the  deepest  caves,  or  walk,  accompanied  only  by 
my  thoughts,  along  the  banks  of  my  river.  I  have 
no  society  to  distract  my  mind ;  ami  men  daily  become 
less  anoying  to  me;  for  I  place  them  either  far  before 
pr  far  behind  me.  I  recollect  what  is  past,  and  con 


UPON  THE  HEART.  77 

template  on  what  is  to  come.  I  have  found  an  excel- 
lent expedient  to  detach  my  mind  from  the  world.  I 
cultivate  a  fondness  for  my  place  of  residence,  and  I  am 
persuaded  that  I  could  be  happy  any  where  except  at 
Avignon.  In  my  retreat  at  Vaucluse,  where  I  am  at 
present,  I  occasionally  find  Athens,  Rome,  or  Flo- 
rence, as  the  one  or  the  other  of  those  places  happens 
to  please  the  prevailing  disposition  of  my  mind.  Here 
I  enjoy  all  my  friends,  as  well  as  those  who  have  long 
since  entered  the  vale  of  death,  and  of  whom  I  have  no 
knowledge,  but  what  their  works  afford." 

What  character,  however  luxurious,  ever  felt  the 
same  content  at  any  splendid  entertainment,  as  Rous- 
seau experienced  in  his  humble  meal !  I  return 
home,"  says  he,  "  with  tired  feet,  but  with  a  contented 
mind,  and  experience  the  calmest  repose  in  resigning 
myself  to  the  impression  of  objects,  without  exercising 
thought,  indulging  imagination,  or  doing  any  thing  to 
interrupt  the  peaceful  felicity  of  my  station.  The  table 
is  ready  spread  on  my  lawn,  and  furnished  with  re- 
freshments. Surrounded  by  my  small  and  happy  fami- 
ly, I  eat  my  supper  with  healthy  appetite,  and  without 
any  appearance  of  servitude  or  dependance  to  annoy 
the  love  and  kindness  by  which  we.  are  united.  My 
faithful  dog  is  not  a  subservient  slave,  but  a  firm  friend, 
from  whom,  as  we  always  feel  the  same  inclination,  I 
never  exact  obedience.  The  gaiety  of  the  mind  through- 
out the  evening  testifies  that  I  live  alone  throughout 
the  day ;  for,  being  seldom  pleased  with  others,  and 
never,  when  visiters  have  disturbed  me,  with  myself,  I 
sit,  during  the  whole  evening  of  the  day  when  compa- 
ny has  interrupted  me,  either  grumbling  or  in  silence : 
so  at  least  my  good  housekeeper  has  remarked  ;  and 
since  she  mentioned  it,  I  have  from  my  own  obser- 
vation found  it  universally  true.  Having  thus  made 
my  humble  and  cheerful  meal,  I  take  a  few  turns  round 
my  little  garden,  9r  play  some  favorite  air  upon  my 
spinette,  and  experience  upon  my  pillow  a  soft  content, 
more  sweet,  if  possible,  than  even  undisturbed  re- 
pose." 

At  the  village  of  Richterswyl,  situated  a  few 
leagues  from  Zurich,  and  surrounded  by  every  object 
the  most  smiling,  beautiful,  and  romantic  that  Swis- 
serland  presents,  dwells  a  celebrated  physician.  His 
soul,  like  the  scenery  of  nature  which  surrounds  him, 
is  tranquil  and  sublime.  His  habitation  is  the  temple 


78  INFLUENCE  OF  SOLITUDE 

of  health,  of  friendship,  and  of  every  peaceful  virtue. 
The  village  rises  on  the  borders  of  the  lake,  at  a  place 
where  two  projecting  points  form  a  fine  bay  of  nearly 
half  a  league.  On  the  opposite  shores,  the  lake,  which 
is  not  quite  a  league  in  extent,  is  enclosed  from  the 
north  to  the  east  T>y  pleasant  hills  covered  with  vine- 
yards, intermixed  with  fertile  meadows,  orchards, 
fields,  groves,  and  thickets,  with  little  hamlets,  church- 
es, villas,  and  cottages  scattered  up  and  down  the 
scene.  A  wide  and  magnificent  amphitheatre,  which 
no  artist  has  yet  attempted  to  paint,  except  in  detached 
scenes,  opens  itself  from  the  east  to  the  south.  The 
view  towards  the  higher  part  of  the  lake,  which  on 
this  side  is  four  leagues  long,  presents  to  the  eye  jut- 
ting points  of  land,  detaehecl  aytes,  the  little  town  of 
Rapperschwyl,  built  on  the  side  of  a  hill,  and  a  bridge 
which  reaches  from  one  side  of  the  lake  to  the  other. 
Beyond  the  to\yn  the  inexhaustible  valley  extends  it- 
self in  a  half  circle  to  the  sight :  and  upon  the  fore- 
ground rises  a  peak  of  land  which  swells  as  it  extends 
into  beautiful  hills.  Behind  them,  at  the  distance  of 
about  half  a  league,  is  a  range  of  mountains  covered 
with  trees  and  verdure,  and  interspersed  with  villages 
and  detached  houses  ;  beyond  which,  at  a  still  greater 
distance,  are  discovered  the  fertile  and  majestic  Alps, 
twisted  one  among  the  other,  and  exhibiting,  alternate- 
ly, shades  of  the  lightest  and  darkest  azure :  and  in  the 
back  ground  high  rocks,  covered  with  eternal  snows, 
lift  their  towering  heads,  and  touch  the  skies.  On  the 
south  side  of  this  rich,  enchanting,  and  incomparable 
scene,  the  amphitheatre  is  extended  by  another  range 
of  mountains  reaching  toward  the  west ;  and  at  the 
feet  of  these  mountains,  on  the  borders  of  the  lake,  lies 
the  village  of  Richterswyl,  surrounded  by  rich  fallows 
and  fertile  pastures,  and  overhung  by  forests  of  firs. 
The  streets  of  the  village,  which  in  itself  is  extremely 
clean,  are  nearly  paved;  and  the  houses,  which  are 
mostly  built  of  stone,  are  painted  on  the  outside. 
Pleasant  walks  are  formed  along  the  banks  of  the 
lake,  and  lead  quite  round  the  town,  through  groves  of 
fruit-trees  and  shady  forests,  up  to  the  very  summit  of 
the  hills.  The  traveller,  struck  with  the  sublime  and 
beautiful  scenery  that  every  where  surrounds  him, 
stops  to  contemplate  with  eager  curiosity  the  increas- 
ing beauties  which  ravish  his  sight;  and  while  his 
bosom  swells  with  excess  of  pleasure,  his  suspended 


OPON  TOE  HEART.  79 

breath  bespeaks  his  fear  of  interrupting  the  fulness  of 
his  delight.  Every  acre  of  this  charming  country  is 
in  the  highest  state  of  cultivation  and  improvement. 
Every  hand  is  at  work ;  and  men,  women,  and  chil- 
dren, of  every  age  and  of  every  description,  are  all  use- 
fully employed. 

The  two  houses  of  the  physician  are  each  of  them 
surrounded  by  a  <rarden  ;  and  although  situated  in  the 
centre  of  the  village,  are  as  rurally  sequestered  as  if 
they  had  been  bum  in  the  bosom  of  the  country. 
Through  the  gardens,  and  close  beneath  the  chamber 
of  my  valued  friend,  runs  a  pure  and  limpid  stream, 
on  the  opposite  of  which,  at  an  agreeable  distance,  is 
the  high  road ;  where,  almost  daily,  numbers  of  pil- 

frims  successively  pass  in  their  way  to  the  hermitage, 
rom  the  windows  of  these  houses,  and  from  every 
part  of  the  gardens,  you  behold,  toward  the  south,  at 
the  distance  of  about  a  league,  the  majestic  Ezelberg 
rear  its  lofty  head,  which  is  concealed  in  forestsof  deep 
green  firs;  while  on  its  declivity  hangs  a  neat  little  vil- 
lage, with  a  handsome  church,  upon  the  steeple  of  which 
the  sun  suspends  his  departing  rays,  and  shows  its  career 
is  nearly  finished.  In  the  front  is  the  lake  of  Zurich, 
whose  peaceful  water  is  secured  from  the  violence  of 
tempests,  and  whoso  transparent  surface  reflects  the 
beauties  of  its  delightful  banks. 

During  the  silence  of  the  night,  if  you  repair  to  the 
chamber  wind9ws  of  this  enchanting  mansion,  or 
walk  through  its  gardens,  to  taste  the  exhaling  fra- 
trranre  of  the  shrubs  and  flowers,  while  the  moon,  ris- 
ing in  unclouded  majesty  over  the  summit  of  the  moun- 
tains, reflects  on  the  smooth  surface  of  the  water  a 
broad  beam  of  light,  you  hear,  during  this  awful  sleep 
of  nature,  the  sound  of  the  village  clocks,  echoing  from 
the  opposite  shores ;  and,  on  the  Richterswyl  side,  the 
shrill  proclamation  of  the  watchmen,  blended  occa- 
sionally with  the  barkings  of  the  faithful  house-dog. 
At  a  distance  you  hear  the  boats  gliding  gently  along 
the  stream,  dividing  the  water  with  their  oars,  and  per- 
ceive them,  as  they  cross  the  moon's  translucent  beam, 
playing  among  the  sparkling  waves. 

Riches  and  luxury  are  no  where  to  be  seen  in  the 
happy  habitation  of  this  wise  philanthropist.  His  chairs 
are  made  of  straw ;  his  tables  are  worked  from  the 
wood  of  the  country  j  and  the  plates  and  dishes  on 
which  he  entertains  "his  friends  are  all  of  earthen-ware. 


80  INFLDENCE  OF  SOLITUDE 

Neatness  and  convenience  reign  throughout.  Draw- 
ings, paintings,  and  engravings,  of  which  he  has  a 
large  well-chosen  collection,  are  his  sole  expense.  The 
earliest  beams  of  Aurora  light  the  humble  apartment 
where  this  philosophic  sage  sleeps  in  undisturbed  re- 
pose, and  awake  him  to  new  enjoyments  every  day. 
As  he  rises  from  his  bed,  the  cooing  of  the  turtle-doves, 
and  the  morning  songs  of  various  kinds  of  birds,  who 
make  their  nightly  nests  in  an  adjoining  aviary,  salute 
his  ears,  and  welcome  his  approach.  The  first  hour  of 
the  morning,  and  the  last  at  night,  are  sacred  to  him- 
self; but  he  devotes  all  the  intermediate  hours  of  every 
day  to  a  sick  and  afflicted  multitude,  who  daily  attend 
him  for  advice  and  assistance.  The  benevolent  exer- 
cise of  his  professional  skill,  indeed,  engrosses  almost 
every  moment  of  his  life,  but  it  constitutes  his  highest 
happiness  and  joy.  The  inhabitants  of  the  mountains 
of  Swisserland,  and  of  the  vallies  of  the  Alps,  flock  to 
his  house,  and  endeavor  in  vain  to  find  language  capa- 
ble of  expressing  to  him  the  grateful  feelings  of  their 
hearts  for  the  favors  they  receive  from  him.  Con- 
vinced of  his  affection,  satisfied  of  his  medical  skill,  and 
believing  that  the  good  doctor  is  equally  well  acquainted 
•vyith  every  subject,  they  listen  with  the  deepest  atten- 
tion to  his  words,  answer  all  his  inquiries  without  the 
least  hesitation  or  reserve,  treasure  up  his  advice  and 
counsel  with  more  solicitude  than  if  they  were  grains 
of  gold,  and  depart  from  his  presence  with  more  regret, 
comfort,  hope,  resignation,  and  virtuous  feelings,  than 
if  they  had  quitted  their  confessor  at  the  hermitage. 
It  may  perhaps  be  conceived,  that  after  a  day  spent  in 
this  manner,  the  happiness  which  this  friend  to  man- 
kind must  feel  cannot  in  any  degree  be  increased. 
But,  when  a  simple,  innocent,  and  ingenuous  country 
girl,  whose  mind  has  been  almost  distracted  by  the 
fear  of  losing  her  beloved  husband,  enters  his  study, 
and  seizing  him  with  transport  by  the  hand,  joyfully 
exclaims,  "  Oh !  Sir,  my  dear  husband,  ill  as  he  was 
only  two  days  since,  is  now  quite  recovered  !  Oh  !  my 
dear  Sir,  how,  how  shall  I  thank  you  !"  this  philan- 
thropic character  feels  that  transcending  felicity,  which 
ought  to  fill  the  bosom  of  a  monarch  in  rendering  hap- 
piness to  his  people. 

Of  this  description  is  the  country  of  Swisserland, 
where  doctor  Hotze,  the  ablest  physician  of  the  pres- 
ent age,  resides ;  a  physician  and  philosopher,  whose 


UPON  THE  HEART.  81 

variety  of  knowledge,  profound  judgment,  and  great 
experience,  have  raisea  him  to  an  equal  eminence  with 
Trissot  and  Hirtzel,  the  dearest  friends  of  my  heart. 
It  is  in  this  manner  that  he  passes  the  hours  ol  his  life, 
with  uniformity  and  happiness.  Surrounded,  except 
during  the  two  hours  I  have  already  mentioned,  by  a 
crowd  of  unfortunate  fellow-creatures,  who  look  up  to 
him  for  relief,  his  mind,  active  and  full  of  vigor,  never 
knows  repose ;  but  his  labors  are  richly  rewarded  by  the 
high  and  refined  felicity  which  fills  his  heart.  Palaces, 
alas !  seldom  contain  such  characters.  Individuals, 
however,  of  every  description  may  cultivate  and  enjoy 
an  equal  degree  of  felicity,  although  they  do  not  reside 
among  scenes  so  delightful  as  those  which  surround  my 
beloved  Hotze  at  Richterswyl,  as  those  of  the  convent 
of  Capuchins  near  Albano,  or  as  those  which  surround 
the  rural  retreat  of  my  sovereign  George  HI.  at  Wind- 
sor. 

Content  can  only  be  found  in  the  tranquillity  of  the 
neart ;  and  in  solitude  the  bosom  gladly  opens  to  receive 
the  wished-for  inmate,  and  to  welcome  its  attendant 
virtues.  While  nature  smiles  around  us,  decorated  in 
all  its  beauties,  the  heart  expands  to  the  cheering  scene  ; 
every  object  appears  in  the  most  favorable  and  pleasing 
point  of  view;  our  souls  overflow  with  kind  affections ; 
the  antipathies  created  by  the  ingratitude  of  the  world 
instantly  vanish  ;  we  even  forget  the  vain,  the  wicked, 
the  profligate  characters  with  whom  we  were  mixed : 
and  being  perfectly  at  peace  with  ourselves,  we  feel  our- 
selves at  peace  with  all  mankind.  But  in  society  the 
rancorous  contention  which  jarring  interests  daily 
create,  the  heavy  yoke  which  subordination  is  continu- 
ally imposing,  "the oppressor's  wrong,  the  proud  man's 
contumely,"  and  the  shocks  which  reason  and  good 
sense  hourly  receive  from  fools  in  power,  and  insolent 
superiors,  spread  torrents  of  misery  over  human  life, 
embitter  the  happiness  of  their  more  worthy  though 
inferior  fellow-creatures,  poison  all  pleasure,  break 
through  social  order,  spread  thorns  in  the  paths  of 
virtue,  and  render  the  world  a  vale  of  tears. 

Blockheads  in  power  are  of  all  other  characters, 
the  most  baneful  and  injurious;  they  confound  all 
iust  distinctions,  mistake  one  quality  for  another ;  de- 
grade every  person  and  thing  to  their  own  level ;  and 
in  short,  change  white  into  black,  and  black  into 
white. 


82  INFLUENCE  OF  SOLITUDE 

To  escape  from  the  persecution  of  such  characters, 
men  even  of  fine  talents  and  ingenious  dispositions 
must  act  like  the  fox  of  Saadi,  of  the  Persian  poet.  A 
person  one  day  observing  a  fox  running  with  uncom- 
mon speed  to  earth,  called  out  to  him,  "Reynard, 
where  are  you  running  in  so  great  a  hurry !  Have 
you  been  doing  any  mischief,  for  which  you  are  appre- 
hensive of  punishment  ?" — "No,  Sir,"  replied  the  iox 
u  my  conscience  is  perfectly  clear,  and  does  not  re- 
proach me  with  any  thing ;  but  I  have  just  overheard 
the  hunters  wish  that  they  had  a  camel  to  hunt  this 
morning." — "  Well,  but  how  does  that  concern  you  ? 
you  are  not  a  camel." — "  Oh,  my  good  Sir,"  replied 
the  fox,  "  are  you  not  aware  that  sagacious  heads  have 
always  enemies  at  their  heels?  and  if  any  one  should 
point  me  out  to  those  sportsmen,  and  cry,  there  runs  a 
camel,  thev  would  immediately  seize  me  without  ex- 
amining whether  I  was  really  the  kind  of  animal  the 
informer  had  described  me  to  be."  Reynard  was  cer- 
tainly right  in  his  conclusion ;  for  men  are  in  general 
wicked  in  proportion  as  they  are  ignorant  or  envious, 
and  the  only  means  of  eluding  their  mischievous  in- 
tentions is  to  keep  out  of  their  way. 

The  simplicity,  regularity,  and  serenity  which  ac- 
company retirement,  moderate  the  warmest  tempers, 
guard  the  heart  against  the  intrusion  of  inordinate  de- 
sires, and  at  length  render  it  invulnerable  to  the  shafts 
of  malice  and  detraction ;  while  the  self-examination 
it  necessarily  imposes,  teaches  us,  by  exhibiting  to  our 
vie\v  our  own  defects,  to  do  justice  to  the  superior 
merit  of  others.  The  delightful  solitudes  of  Lausanne 
exhibit  every  where  captivating  examples  of  domestic 
felicity.  The  industrious  citizen,  after  having  faithful- 
ly performed  his  daily  task,  is  sure  of  experiencing,  on 
his  return  at  evening:  to  his  wife  and  children,  real 
comfort  and  unalloyed  content.  The  voice  of  slander, 
the  neg-lect  of  ingratitude,  the  contempt  of  superiors, 
and  all  the  mortifications  attendant  upon  worldly  in- 
tercourse, are  forgot  the  moment  he  beholds  his  happy 
family  ready  with  open  arms  to  receive  him,  and  to 
bestow  upon  their  friend  and  benefactor  the  fond  ca- 
resses he  so  justly  merits.  With  what  exquisite  de- 
light his  beating  bosom  feels  their  rapturous  affection. 
If  his  mind  has  been  vexed  by  the  crosses  of  life,  the 
ostentation  of  courts,  the  insolence  of  riches,  the  arro- 
gance of  power,  or  his  temper  irritated  and  soured  bv 


tPON  THE  HEART.  83 

the  base  practices  of  fraud,  falsehood,  or  hypocrisy,  he 
no  sooner  mixes  with  those  whom  he  cherishes  and 
supports,  than  a  genial  warmth  reanimates  his  dejected 
heart,  the  tenderest  sentiments  inspire  his  soul,  and 
the  truth,  the  freedom,  the  probity,  and  the  innocence 
by  which  he  is  surrounded,  tranquillize  his  mind,  and 
reconcile  him  to  his  humble  lot.  Oli !  observe  him,  all 
ye  who  are  placed  in  more  elevated  stations,  whether 
ye  enjoy  the  confidence  of  statesmen,  are  the  beloved 
companions  of  the  ereat,  the  admired  favorites  of  the 
fair,  the  envied  leaders  of  the  public  taste,  of  high  birth, 
or  of  ample  fortunes ;  for  if  your  rich  and  splendia 
homes  be  the  seats  of  jealousy  and  discord,  and  the 
bosoms  of  your  families  strangers  to  that  content  which 
the  wise  and  virtuous  feel  within  walls  of  clay,  and 
under  roofs  of  humble  thatch,  you  are,  in  comparison, 
poor  indeed. 

Characters  enervated  by  prosperity  feel  the  smallest 
inconvenience  as  a  serious  calamity,  and,  unable  to 
bear  the  touch  of  rude  and  violent  hands,  require  to  be 
treated,  like  young  and  tender  flowers,  with  delicacy, 
and  attention  ;  while  those  who  have  been  educated  in 
the  rough  school  of  adversity,  walk  over  the  thorns  of 
life  with  a  firm  and  intrepid  step,  and  kick  them  from 
the  path  with  indifference  and  contempt.  Superior  to 
the  false  opinions  and  prejudices  of  the  world,  they 
bear  with  patient  fortitude  the  blow  of  misfortune,  disre- 
gard all  trifling  injuries,  and  look  down  with  proud 
contempt  on  the  malice  of  their  enemies,  and  the  infi- 
delity of  their  friends. 

The  lofty  zephyr,  the  transparent  spring,  the  well- 
stored  river,  the  umbrageous  forest,  the  cooling  grotto, 
and  the  daisied  field,  however,  are  not  always  necessa- 
ry to  enable  us  to  despise  or  forget  the  consequences  of 
adversity.  The  man  who  firmly  keeps  his  course,  and 
has  courage  to  live  according  to  his  own  taste  and 
inclinations,  cannot  be  affected  by  the  little  crosses  of 
life,  or  by  the  obloquy  or  injustice  of  mankind.  What 
we  do  voluntarily  always  affords  us  more  pleasure  than 
that  which  we  do  by  compulsion.  The  restraints  of 
the  world  and  the  obligations  of  society,  disgust  libe- 
ral minds,  and  deprive  them,  even  in  the  midst  of  all 
their  splendor  ana  fortune,  ol  that  content  they  seek  so 
anxiously  to  obtain. 

Solitude,  indeed,  not  only  tranquillizes  the  heart, 
renders  it  kind  and  virtuous,  and  raises  it  above  the 


84  INFLUENCE   Of 

malevolence  of  envy,  wickedness,  and  conceited  igno- 
rance, but  affords  advantages  still  more  valuable.  Li- 
berty, true  liberty,  flies  from  the  tumultuous  crowd, 
and 'the  forced  connexions  of  the  world.  It  has  been 
truly  observed,  that  in  solitude  man  recovers  from  the 
distraction  which  had  torn  him  from  himself;  feels  a 
clear  conception  of  what  he  once  was,  and  may  yet 
become;  explores  the  nature,  and  discovers  the  extent, 
of  his  freeborn  character :  rejects  every  thing  artificial ; 
is  guided  by  his  own  sentiments ;  no  longer  dreads  a 
severe  master  or  imperious  tyrant ;  and  neither  suffers 
the  constraints  of  business  or  the  blandishments  of 
pleasure,  to  disturb  his  repose;  but,  breaking  boldly 
through  the  shackles  of  servile  habit  and  arbitrary  cus- 
tom, thinks  for  himself  with  confidence  and  courage, 
and  improves  the  sensibility  of  his  heart  by  the  senti- 
ments of  his  mind. 

Madame  de  Stael  considered  it  a  great  error,  to  ima- 
gine that  freedom  and  liberty  could  be  indulged  at 
court,  where  the  mind,  even  on  the  most  trifling  occa- 
sions, is  obliged  to  observe  a  multitude  of  ceremonies, 
where  it  is  impossible  to  speak  one's  thoughts,  where 
our  sentiments  must  be  adapted  to  those  around  us, 
where  every  person  assumes  a  control  over  us.  and 
where  we  never  have  the  smallest  enjovment  of  our- 
selves. "  To  enjoy  ourselves,,"  says  she,  "  we  must  seek 
solitude.  It  was  in  the  Bastile  that  I  first  became  ac- 
quainted with  myself." 

Acourtier,  fearful  of  every  person  around  him,  is  con- 
tinually upon  the  watch,  and  tormented  incessantly  by 
suspicion  ;  but  while  his  heart  is  thus  a  prey  to  corro- 
ding anxiety,  he  is  obliged  to  appear  contented  and  se- 
rene, and,  like  the  old  lady,  is  always  lighting  one  ta- 
per to  Michael  the  archangel,  and  another  to  the  devil, 
because  he  does  not  know  for  which  of  them  he  may 
have  most  occasion.  A  man  of  a  liberal,  enlightened 
mind,  is  as  little  calculated  to  perform  the  office  of  mas- 
ter of  the  ceremonies,  or  to  conduct  the  etiquette  of  a 
court,  as  a  woman  is  to  be  a  religieuse. 

Liberty  and  leisure  render  a  rational  and  active  mind 
indifferent  to  every  other  kind  of  happiness.  It  was 
the  love  of  liberty  and  solitude  which  rendered  the 
riches  and  honors  of  the  world  so  odious  to  Petrarch. 
Solicited  at  an  advanced  period  of  his  life,  to  act  as 
secretary  to  several  popes,  under  the  tempting  offer  of 
great  emolument,  he  replied,  "  Riches  when  acquired 


tfPON  THE  HEART.  86 

at  the  expense  of  liberty,  become  the  source  of  real 
misery.  A  yoke  formed  of  gold  and  silver  is  not  lesg 
railing  and  restrictive  than  one  made  of  wood  or  iron/* 
And  he  frankly  told  his  friends  and  patrons,  that  to  him 
there  was  no  quantity  of  wealth  equal  in  value  to  his 
ease  and  liberty :  that,  as  he  had  despised  riches  at  a 
time  when  he  was  most  in  need  of  them,  it  would  be 
shameful  in  him  to  seek  them  now,  when  he  could 
more  conveniently  live  without  them:  that  every  man 
ought  to  apportion  the  provision  for  his  journey  accord- 
ing to  the  distance  he  had  to  travel ;  and  that,  having 
almost  reached  the  end  of  his  course,  he  ought  to  think 
more  of  his  reception  at  the  inn,  than  of  his  expenses 
on  the  road. 

Petrarch,  disgusted  by  the  vicious  manners  which 
surrounded  the  papal  chair,  retired  into  solitude  when 
he  was  only  three-and-twenty  years  of  age,  and  in  pos- 
session of  that  exterior,  both  with  respect  to  person 
and  dress,  which  forms  so  essential  a  part  in  the  cha- 
racter of  an  accomplished  courtier.  Nature  had  deco- 
rated him  with  every  pleasing  attribute.  His  fine  form 
struck  observers  so  forcibly,  that  they  stopped  as  he 
passed  along  to  admire  and  point  out  his  symmetry. 
liis  eyes  were  bright  and  full  of  fire ;  his  lively  counte- 
nance proclaimed  the  vivacity  of  the  mind  ;  the  fresh- 
est color  glowed  on  his  cheeks ;  his  features  were  un- 
commonly expressive ;  and  his  whole  appearance  was 
manly,  elegant,  and  noble.  The  natural  disposition  of 
his  heart,  increased  by  the  warm  climate  of  Italy,  the 
fire  of  youth,  the  seductive  charms  of  the  various  beau- 
ties who  resorted  to  the  papal  court,  from  every  Dation 
of  Europe,  and  especially  the  prevailing  dissipation  of 
the  age,  attached  him,  very  early  in  life,  to  the  society 
of  women.  The  decoration  of  dress  deeply  engaged 
his  attention ;  and  the  least  spot  or  improper  fold  on 
his  garments,  which  were  always  of  the  lightest  color, 
seemed  to  give  him  real  uneasiness.  Every" form  which 
appeared  inelegant  was  carefully  avoided,  even  in  the 
fashion  of  his  shoes ;  which  were  so  extremely  tight, 
and  cramped  him  to  such  a  degree,  that  he  would  soon 
have  been  deprived  of  the  use  of  his  feet,  if  he  had  not 
wisely  recollected,  that  it  was  much  better  to  displease 
the  eyes  of  the  ladies  than  to  make  himself  a  cripple. 
To  prevent  the  dress  of  his  hair  from  being  discom- 
posed, he  protected  it  with  anxiety  from  the  rudeness 
of  the  winds  as  he  passed  along  the  streets.  Devoted, 
8 


86  INFLUENCE   OF  SOLITUDE 

however,  as  he  was  to  the  service  of  the  sex,  he  main- 
tained a  rival  fondness  for  literature,  and  an  inviolable 
attachment  to  moral  sentiment ;  and  while  he  celebra- 
ted the  charms  of  his  fair  favorites  in  choice  Italian,  he 
reserved  his  knowledge  of  the  learned  languages  for 
subjects  more  serious  and  important.  Nor  did  he  per- 
mit the  warmth  of  his  constitution,  or  the  sensibility  of 
his  heart,  great  and  exquisite  as  they  were,  to  debauch 
his  mind,  or  betray  him  into  the  most  trifling  indiscre- 
tion, without  feeling-  the  keenest  compunction  and  re- 
i>entance.  "  I  wish,"  said  he,  "  that  I  had  a  heart  as 
hard  as  adamant,  rather  than  be  so  continually  tor- 
mented by  such  seducing  passions."  The  heart  of 
this  amiable  young^  man,  was,  indeed,  continually  as- 
sailed by  the  crowd  of  beauties  that  adorned  the  papal 
court;  and  the  povyer  of  their  charms,  and  the  facility 
with  which  his  situation  enabled  them  to  enjoy  his 
company,  rendered  him  in  some  degree  their  captive ; 
but,  alarmed  by  the  approaching  torments  and  disquie- 
tudes of  love,  he  cautiously  avoided  their  pleasing 
snares,  and  continued,  previous  to  the  sight  of  his  be- 
loved Laura,  to  roam  "  free  and  unconqured  through 
the  wilds  of  love." 

The  practice  of  the  civil  law  was  at  this  period  the 
only  road  to  eminence  at  Avignon ;  but  Petrarch  de- 
tested the  venality  of  the  profession ;  and  though  he 
practised  at  the  bar,  and  gained  many  causes  by  his 
eloquence,  he  afterwards  reproached  himself  with  it. 
"  In  my  youth,"  says  he,  "  I  devoted  myself  to  the 
trade  of  selling  words,  or  rather  fabricating  falsehoods  ; 
but  that  which  we  do  against  our  own  inclinations,  is 
seldom  attended  with  success;  my  fondness  was  for 
solitude,  and  therefore  I  attended  the  practice  of  the 
bar  with  aversion  and  disgust."  The  secret  conscious- 
ness however,  which  he  entertained  of  his  own  merit, 
gave  him  all  the  confidence  natural  to  youth ;  and,  fil- 
ling his  mind  with  that  lofty  spirit  which  begets  the 
presumption  of  being  equal  to  the  highest  achieve- 
ments, he  relinquished  the  bar  for  the  church;  but 
his  inveterate  hatred  of  the  manners  of  the  Episcopal 
court  prevented  his  exertions,  and  retarded  his  promo- 
tion. "I  have  no  hope,"  said  he,  in  the  thirty-fifth 
year  of  his  a^e,  "  of  making  my  fortune  in  the  court  of 
the  vicar  of  Jesus  Christ ;  to  acomplish  that,  I  must  as- 
siduously attend  the  palaces  of  the  great,  and  practise 
flattery,  falsehood,  and  deceit."  A  task  of  this  kind 


UPON  THE  BfcAftT.  87 

was  too  painful  to  his  feelings  to  perform ;  not  be- 
cause he  either  hated  the  society  of  men,  or  disliked 
advancement,  but  because  he  detested  the  means  he 
must  necessarily  have  used  to  gratify  his  ambition. 
Glory  was  his  warmest  wish,  and  he  ardently  endeav- 
ored to  obtain  it ;  not,  indeed,  by  the  ways  in  which  it 
is  usually  obtained,  but  by  delighting  to  walk  in  the 
most  unfrequented  paths,  and  of  course,  by  retiring 
from  the  world.  The  sacrifices  he  made  to  solitude 
were  great  and  important ;  but  his  mind  and  his  heart 
were  formed  to  enjoy  the  advantages  it  affords  with  a 
superior  degree  of  delight ;  a  happiness  which  resulted 
to  him  from  his  hatred  of  a  profligate  court,  and  from 
his  love  of  liberty. 

The  love  of  liberty  was  the  secret  cause  which  gave 
the  mind  of  Rousseau  so  inveterate  a  disgust  to  socie- 
ty, and  became  in  solitude  the  spring  of  all  his  plea- 
sures. His  Letters  to  Malesherbes  are  as  remarkable 
for  the  discovery  they  make  of  his  real  disposition,  as 
his  Confessions,  which  have  been  as  much  misunder- 
stood as  his  character.  "  I  mistook  for  a  great  length 
of  time,"  says  he,  in  one  of  these  letters,  "the  cause  of 
that  invincible  disgust  which  I  always  felt  in  my  inter- 
course with  the  world.  I  attributed  it  to  the  mortifica- 
tion of  not  possessing  that  quick  and  ready  talent 
necessary  to  display  in  conversation  the  little  know- 
ledge I  possessed ;  and  this  reflected  an  idea,  that  I  did 
not' hold  that  reputation  in  the  opinion  of  mankind 
which  I  conceived  I  merited.  But  although,  after 
scribbling  many  ridiculous  things,  and  perceiving  my- 
self sought  after  bv  all  the  world,  and  honored^ with 
much  more  consideration  than  even  my  own  ridicu- 
lous vanity  would  have  led  me  to  expect,  I  found  that  I 
was  in  no  danger  of  being  taken  for  a  fool ;  yet,  still 
feeling  the  same  disgust  rather  augmented  than  dimin- 
ished, I  concluded  that  it  must  arise  from  some  other 
cause,  and  that  these  were  not  the  kind  of  enjoyments 
which  I  must  look  for.  What  then,  in  fact,  was  the 
cause  of  it  ?  It  was  no  other  than  that  invincible  spirit 
t»f  liberty  which  nothing  can  overcome,  and  in  compe- 
tition with  which,  honor,  fortune,  and  even  fame  itself, 
are  to  me  as  nothing.  It  is  certain  that  this  spirit  of 
liberty  is  engendered  less  by  pride  than  by  indolence ; 
but  this  indolence  is  incredible:  it  is  alarmed  at  every 
thing  ;  it  renders  the  most  trifling  duties  of  civil  life 
insupportable.  To  be  obliged  to  speak  a  word,  to 


68  INFLUENCE   OF  SOLlTUbE 

write  a  letter,  or  to  pay  a  visit,  are  to  me,  from  the  mo- 
ment the  obligation  arises,  the  severest  punishments. 
This  is  the  reason  why,  although  the  ordinary  com- 
merce of  men  is  odious  to  me.  the  pleasures  of  private 
friendship  are  so  dear  to  my  heart;  for  in  the  indul- 
gence of  private  friendships  there  are  no  duties  to  per- 
form ;  we  have  only  to  follow  the  feelings  of  the  heart, 
and  all  is  done.  This  is  the  reason  also  why  I  have  so 
much  dreaded  to  accept  of  favors;  for  every  act  of 
kindness  demands  an  acknowledgment,  and  I  feel  that 
my  heart  is  ungrateful  only  because  gratitude  becomes 
a  duty.  The  kind  of  happiness,  in  short,  which  pleases 
me  best,  does  not  consist  so  much  in  doing  what  I  wish, 
as  in  avoiding  that  which  is  disagreeable  to  me.  Active 
life  affords  no  temptations  to  me.  I  would  much  ra- 
ther do  nothing  at  all  than  that  which  I  dislike ;  and  I 
have  frequently  thought  that  I  should  not  have  lived 
very  unhappily  even  in  the  Bastile,  provided  I  was  free 
from  any  other  constraint  than  that  of  merely  residing 
within  the  walls." 

An  English  author  asks,  "  Why  are  the  inhabitants 
of  the  rich  plains  of  Lombardy,  where  nature  pours  her 
gifts  in  such  profusion,  less  opulent  than  those  of  the 
mountains  of  Swisserland  ? — Because  freedom,  whose 
influence  is  more  benign  than  sunshine  and  zephyrs ; 
who  covers  the  rugged  rock  with  soil,  drains  the  sickly 
swamp,  and  clothes  the  brown  heath  in  verdure ;  who 
dresses  the  laborer's  face  with  smiles,  and  makes  him 
behold  his  increasing  family  with  delight  and  exulta- 
tion— Freedom  has  abandoned  the  fertile  fields  of 
Lombardy,  and  dwells  among  the  mountains  of  Swis- 
serland." This  observation,~though  dressed  in  such 
enthusiastic  expressions,  is  literally  True  at  Uri,  Sell witz, 
Underwalde,  Zug,  Glaris,  and  Appenzel ;  for  those  who 
have  more  than  their  wants  require  are  rich  ;  and  those 
who  are  enabled  to  think,  to  speak,  and  to  act  as  incli- 
nation may  dictate,  are  free. 

Competency  and  liberty,  therefore,  are  the  true 
sweeteners  of  life.  That  state  of  mind,  so  rarely  pos- 
sessed, in  which  a  man  can  sincerely  say,  I  ha  re  enough., 
is  the  highest  attainment  of  philosophy.  Happiness 
does  not  consist  in  having  much,  but  in  having  suffi- 
cient. This  is  the  reason  why  kinss  and  princes  are 
seldom  happy  ;  for  they  always  desire  more  than  they 
possess,  and  are  urged  incessantly  to  attempt  more 
than  it  is  in  their  power  to  achieve.  He  who  wants 


UPON  THE  HEART  89 

little  has  always  enough.  "  I  am  contented,"  says  Pe- 
trarch, in  a  letter  to  his  friends,  the  cardinals  Talley- 
rand and  Bologna :  "  I  desire  nothing  more ;  I  enjoy 
every  thing  that  is  necessary  to  life.  Cincinnatus,  Cur- 
tius,  Fabricius,  and  Regulus,  after  having  conquered 
nations,  and  led  kings  in  triumph,  were  not  so  rich  as 
I  am.  J8ut  I  should  always  be  poor  if  I  were  to  open  a 
door  to  my  passions.  Luxury,  ambition,  avarice  know 
no  bounds,  and  desire  is  an  unfathomable  abyss.  I 
have  clothes  to  cover  me ;  victuals  to  support  me;  hor- 
ses to  carry  me ;  lands  to  lie  down  or  walk  upon  while 
I  live,  and  to  receive  my  remains  when  I  die.  What 
more  was  any  Roman  emperor  possessed  of? — My  body 
is  healthy ;  and  being  engaged  in  toil,  is  less  rebellious 
against  my  mind.  I  have  books  of  every  kind,  which 
are  to  me  inestimable  treasures ;  they  fill  my  soul  with 
a  voluptuous  delight,  untinctured  with  remorse.  I 
have  friends  whom  I  consider  more  precious  than  any 
thing  I  possess,  provided  their  counsels  do  not  tend  to 
abridge  my  liberty  :  and  I  know  of  no  other  enemies 
than  those  which  envy  has  raised  against  me." 

Solitude  not  only  restrains  inordinate  desires,  but  dis- 
covers to  mankind  their  real  wants :  and  where  a  sim- 
plicity of  manners  prevails,  the  real  wants  of  men  are 
not  only  few,  but  easily  satisfied ;  for  being  ignorant 
of  those  desires  which  luxury  creates,  they  can  have 
no  idea  of  indulging  them.  An  old  country  curate,  who 
had  all  his  life  resided  upon  a  loftv  mountain  near  the 
lake  of  Thun,  in  the  canton  of  Berne,  was  one  day 
presented  with  a  moor -cock.  The  good  old  man, 
ignorant  that  such  a  bird  existed,  consulted  with  his 
cook-maid  in  what  manner  this  rarity  was  to  be  dispos- 
ed of,  and  they  both  agreed  to  bury  it  in  the  garden.  If 
we  were  all,  alas !  as  ignorant  of  the  delicious  flavor  of 
moor-cocks,  we  might  be  all  as  happy  and  contented 
as  the  simple  pastor  of  the  mountain  near  the  lake  of 
Thun. 

The  man  who  confines  his  desires  to  his  real  wants, 
is  more  wise,  more  rich,  and  more  contented,  than  any 
other  mortal  existing.  The  system  upon  which  he  acts 
is,  like  his  soul,  replete  ^yith  simplicity  and  true  great- 
ness ;  and  seeking  his  felicity  in  innocent  obscurity  and 
peaceful  retirement,  he  devotes  his  mind  to  the  love  of 
truth,  and  finds  his  highest  happiness  in  a  contented 
heart. 

A  calm  and  tranquil  life  renders  the  indulgence  of 
8* 


90  INFLUENCE  OP  SOLITUDE 

sensual  pleasures  less  dangerous.  The  theatre  of  sen- 
suality exhibits  scenes  of  waste  and  brutality,  of  noisy 
mirth  and  tumultuous  riot ;  presents  to  observation 
pernicious  goblets,  overloaded  tables,  lascivious  dan- 
cing, receptacles  for  disease,  tombs  with  faded  roses, 
andall  the  dismal  haunts  of  pain.  But  to  him  who  re- 
tires in  detestation  from  such  gross  delights,  the  joys 
of  sense  are  of  a  more  elevated  kind  :  soft,  sublime, 
pure,  permanent,  and  tranquil. 

Petrarch  one  day  inviting  his  friend,  the  cardinal 
Colonna,  to  visit  his  retirement  at  Vaucluse,  wrote  to 
him,  "  If  you  prefer  the  tranquillity  of  the  country 
to  the  noise  of  the  town,  come  here  and  enjoy  yourself. 
Do  not  be  alarmed  by  the  simplicity  of  my  table,  or  the 
hardness  of  my  beds.  Kings  themselves  are  frequently 
disgusted  by  the  luxury  in  which  they  live,  and  sigh 
for  comforts  of  a  more  homely  kind.  Change  of  scene 
is  always  pleasing  ;  and  pleasures,  by  occasional  inter- 
ruption, frequently  become  more  lively.  If,  however, 
you  should  not  accord  with  these  sentiments  you 
may  bring  with  you  the  most  exquisite  viands,  the 
wines  of  Vesuvius,  silver  dishes,  and  every  thing 
else  that  the  indulgence  of  your  senses  requires.  Leave 
the  rest  to  me.  I  promise  to  provide  you  with  a  bed  of 
the  finest  turf,  a  cooling  shade,  the  music  of  the  night- 
ingales, figs,  raisins,  water  drawn  from  the  freshest 
springs ;  and,  in  short,  every  thing  that  the  hand  of 
Nature  prepares  for  the  lap  of  genuine  pleasure." 

Ah  !  who  would  not  willingly  renounce  those  tilings 
which  only  produce  disquietude  in  the  mind,  for  those 
which  render  it  contented !  The  art  of  occasionally 
diverting  the  imagination,  taste,  and  passions,  affords 
new  andunknown  enjoyments  to  the  mind  and  confers 
pleasure  without  pain,  and  luxury  without  repentance. 
The  senses  deadened  by  satiety,  revive  to  new  enjoy- 
ments. The  lively  twitter  of  the  erroves.  and  the  mur- 
mur of  the  brooks,  yield  a  more  delicious  pleasure  to 
the  ear  than  the  music  of  the  opera,  or  the  compositions 
of  the  ablest  masters.  The  eye  reposes  more  agreeably 
on  the  concave  firmament,  on  an  expanse  of  wa- 
ters, on  mountains  covered  with  rockSj  than  it 
does  on  all  the  glare  of  balls  and  assemblies.  In 
short,  the  mind  enjoys  in  solitude  objects  whicli 
were  before  insupportable,  and  reclining  on  the  bosom 
of  simplicity,  easily  renounces  every  vain  delight.  Pe- 
trarch wrote  from  Vaucluse  to  one  of  his  friends,  "I 


UPON  THE  HEART.  91 

have  made  war  against  my  coporeal  powers,  for  I  find 
they  are  my  enemies.  My  eyes,  which  have  rendered 
me  guilty  of  so  many  follies,  are  now  confined  to  the 
view  of  a  single  \yoman,  old,  black,  and  sunburnt.  If 
Helen,  or  Lucretia  had  possessed  such  a  face,  Troy 
would  never  have  been  reduced  to  ashes,  nor  Tarquin 
driven  from  the  empire  of  the  world.  But,  to  com- 
pensate these  defects,  she  is  faithful,  submissive,  and 
industrious.  She  passes  whole  days  in  the  fields,  her 
shrivelled  skin  defying  the  hottest  rays  of  the  sun. 
My  wardrobe  still  contains  fine  clothes,  but  I  never 
wear  them  ;  and  you  would  take  me  for  a  common  la- 
borer or  a  simple  shepherd ;  I,  who  formerly  was  so 
anxious  about  my  dress.  But  the  reasons  which  then 
prevailed,  no  longer  exist :  the  fetters  by  which  I  was 
enslaved  are  brolten :  the  eyes  which  I  was  anxious 
to  please  are  shut ;  and  if  they  were  still  open,  they 
would  not  perhaps,  now  be  able  to  maintain  the  same 
empire  over  my  heart." 

Solitude,  by  stripping  worldly  objects  of  the  false 
splendor  in  which  fancy  arrays  them,  dispels  all  vain 
ambition  from  the  mind.  Accustomed  to  rural  delights 
and  indifferent  to  every  other  kind  of  pleasure,  a  wise 
man  no  longer  thinks  high  offices  and  worldly  advance- 
ment worthy  of  his  desires.  A  noble  Roman  was 
overwhelmed  with  tears  on  being  obliged  to  accept  of 
the  consulship,  because  it  would  deprive  him  for  one 
year  of  the  opportunity  of  cultivating  his  fields.  Cin- 
cinnatus,  who  was  called  from  the  plough  to  the  su- 
preme command  of  the  Roman  legions,  defeated  the 
enemies  of  his  country,  added  to  it  new  provinces.,  made 
his  triumphal  entry  into  Rome,  and  at  the  expiration 
of  sixteen  days  returned  to  his  plough.  It  is  true,  that 
the  inmate  of  an  humble  cottage,  who  is  forced  to  earn 
his  daily  bread  by  labor,  and  the  owner  of  a  spacious 
mansion,  for  whom  every  luxury  is  provided,  are  not 
held  in  equal  estimation  by  mankind.  But  let  the  man 
who  has  experienced  both  these  situations,  be  asked 
under  which  of  them  he  felt  the  most  content.  The 
cares  and  inquietudes  of  the  palace  are  innumerably 
greater  than  those  of  the  cottage.  In  the  former,  dis- 
content poisons  every  enjoyment;  and  its  superfluity 
is  only  misery  in  disguise.  The  princes  of  Germany 
do  not  digest  all  the  palatable  poison  which  their  cooks 
prepare,  so  well  as  a  peasant  upon  the  heaths  of  Lim- 
bourg  digests  his  buck-wheat  pie  And  those  who 


92  INFLUENCE  OP  SOLITUDE 

may  differ  from  me  in  this  opinion,  will  be  forced  to  ac- 
knowledge, that  there  is  great  truth  in  the  reply  which 
a  pretty  French  country  girl,  made  to  a  young  noble- 
man, who  solicited  her  to  abandon  her  rustic  taste,  and 
retire  with  him  to  Paris:  "Ah!  my  lord,  the  further 
we  remove  from  ourselves,  the  greater  is  our  distance 
from  happiness." 

Solitude,  by  moderating  the  selfish  desires  of  the 
heart,  and  expelling  ambition  from  the  breast,  becomes 
a  real  asylum  to  the  disappointed  statesman  or  discard- 
ed minister ;  for  it  is  not  every  public  minister  who  can 
retire,  like  Neckar,  through  the  portals  of  everlasting 
fame.  Every  person,  indeed,  without  distinction,  ought 
to  raise  his  grateful  hands  to  heaven,  on  being  dismis- 
sed from  the  troubles  of  public  life,  to  the  calm  repose 
which  the  cultivation  of  nis  native  fields,  and  the  care 
of  his  flocks  and  herds,  afford.  In  France,  however, 
when  a  minister,  who  has  incurred  the  displeasure  of 
his  sovereign,  is  ordered  to  retire,  and  thereby  enabled 
to  visit  an  estate  which  he  has  decorated  in  the  high- 
est style  of  rural  elegance,  this  delightful  retreat,  alas ! 
being  considered  a  place  of  exile,  becomes  intolerable 
to  his  mind:  he  no  longer  fancies  himself  its  master; 
is  incapable  of  relishing  its  enchanting  beauties ;  re- 
pose flies  from  his  pillow ;  and  turning  with  aversion 
from  every  object,  he  dies  at  length,  the  victim  of 
spleen,  petulance,  and  dejection.  But  in  England  it  is 
just  the  reverse.  There  a  minister  is  congratulated  on 
retiring,  like  a  man  who  has  happily  escajied  from  a 
dangerous  malady.  He  feels  himself  still  surrounded 
by  many  friends  much  more  worthy  than  his  adherents 
while  in  power ;  for  while  those  were  bound  to  him  by 
temporary  considerations  of  interest,  these  are  attached 
to  him  by  real  and  permanent  esteem.  Thanks,  gene- 
rous Britons !  for  the  examples  you  have  given  to  us  of 
men  sufficiently  bold  and  independent  to  weigh  events 
in  the  scales  of  reason,  and  to  guide  themselves  by  the 
intrinsic  and  real  merits  of  each  case :  for  notwith- 
standing the  freedom  with  which  many  Englishmen 
have  arraigned  the  dispensations  of  the  Supreme  Be- 
ing ;  notwithstanding  the  mockery  and  ridicule  with 
which  they  have  so  frequently  insulted  virtue,  good 
manners,  and  decorum  ;  there  are  many  more  among 
them,  who.  especially  at  an  advanced  period  of  their 
lives,  perfectly  understand  the  art  of  living  by  them- 
selves ;  and  iu  their  tranquil  and  delightful  villas  think 


UPON   THE  HEART.  93 

with  more  dignity,  and  live  with  more  real  happiness, 
than  the  haughtiest  noble  in  the  zenith  of  his  power. 

Of  the  ministers  who  retire  from  the  administration 
of  public  affairs,  the  majority  finish  their  days  in  culti- 
vating their  gardens,  in  improving  their  estates,  and, 
like  the  excellent  de  la  Roche,  at  Spire,  certainly 
possess  more  content  with  the  shovel  and  the  rake, 
than  they  enjoyed  in  the  most  prosperous  hours  in  their 
administration. 

It  has,  indeed,  been  said,  that  observations  like  these 
are  common  to  persons  who,  ignorant  of  the  manners 
of  the  world,  and  the  characters  of  men,  love  to  mora- 
lize on,  and  recommend  a  contempt  of,  human  great- 
ness; but  that  rural  innocence,  the  pure  and  simple 
pleasures  of  nature,  and  an  uninterrupted  repose,  are 
very  seldom  the  companions  of  this  boasted  solitude. 
Those  who  maintain  this  opinion,  assert,  that  man, 
though  surrounded  with  difficulties,  and  obliged  to  em- 
ploy every  art  and  cunning  to  attain  his  ends,  feels 
with  his  success  the  pleasing  power  which  attaches  to 
the  character  of  master,  and  fondly  indulges  in  the  ex- 
ercise of  sovereignty.  Enabled  to  create  and  to  des- 
troy, to  plant  and  to  root  up,  to  make  alterations  when 
and  where  he  pleases,  he  may  grub  up  a  vineyard,  and 
plant  an  English  grove  on  its  site ;  erect  hills  where 
hills  never  were  seen ;  level  eminences  to  the  ground ; 
compel  the  stream  to  flow  as  his  inclination  shall  di- 
rect ;  force  woods  and  shrubberies  to  grow  where  he 
pleases ;  graft  or  lop  as  it  shall  strike  his  fancy ;  open 
views  and  shut  out  boundaries ;  construct  ruins  where 
buildings  never  existed;  erect  temples  of  which  he 
alone  is  the  high  priest ;  and  build  hermitages  in  which 
he  may  seclude  himself  at  pleasure.  It  is  said,  howev- 
er, that  this  is  not  a  reward  for  the  restraints  he  for- 
merly experienced,  but  a  natural  inclination ;  for  that 
a  minister  must  be,  from  the  habits  of  his  life,  fond 
of  command  and  sovereignty,  whether  he  continues  at 
the  head  of  an  extensive  empire,  or  directs  the  manage- 
ment of  a  poultry  yard. 

It  would  most  undoubtedly  discover  a  great  igno- 
rance of  the  world,  and  of  the  nature  of  man,  to  con- 
tend that  it  is  necessary  to  renounce  all  the  inclinations 
of  the  human  heart,  in  order  to  enjoy  the  advantages 
of  solitude.  That  which  nature  has  implanted  in  the 
human  breast  must  thero  remain.  If,  therefore  a  min- 
ister, in  his  retirement,  is  not  satiated  with  the  exer- 


94  INFLUENCE  OF  SOLITUDE. 

else  of  power  and  authority,  but  still  fondly  wishes  for 
command,  let  him  require  obedience  from  his  chickens, 
provided  such  a  gratification  is  essential  to  his  happi- 
ness and  tends  to  suppress  the  desire  of  again  exposing 
himself  to  those  tempests  and  shipwrecks  which  he  can 
only  avoid  in  the  safe  harbor  of  rural  life.  An  ex-minis- 
ter must  sooner  or  later,  learn  to  despise  the  appearances 
of  human  greatness,  when  he  discovers  that  true  great- 
ness frequently  begins  at  that  period  of  life  which  states- 
men are  apt  to  consider  a  dreary  void  ;  that  the  regret 
of  being  no  longer  able  to  do  more  good,  is  only  ambi- 
tion in  disguise ;  and  that  the  inhabitants  of  the  country, 
ia  cultivating  their  cabbages  and  potatoes,  are  a  hun- 
dred times  happier  than  the  greatest  minister. 

Nothing  contributes  more  to  the  advancement  of 
earthly  felicity,  than  a  reliance  on  those  maxims  which 
teach  us  to  cut  as  much  good  as  possible,  and  to  take 
things  just  as  we  find  them  ;  for  it  is  certainly  true  that 
no  characters  are  so  unhappy  as  those  who  are  continu- 
ally finding  fault  with  every  thing  they  see.  My  barber 


culties.  For  these  nine  months  last  past,  you  have 
regularly  told  me  every  other  day,  It  is  terribly  cold  to 
day."  Cannot  the  Almighty,  then  any  longer  govern 
the  universe,  without  these  gentlemen  barbers  finding 
something  to  be  disconted  with  ?  "  Is  it  not,"  I  asked 
him,  "  much  better  to  take  the  seasons  as  they  change, 
and  to  receive  with  equal  gratitude,  from  the  hand  of 
God,  the  winter's  cold,  and  the  summer's  warmth?" 
"Oh!  certainly,"  replied  the  barber. 

Competency,  and  content,  therefore,  may  in  general, 
be  considered  as  the  basis  of  earthly  happiness ;  and 
solitude,  in  many  instances,  favors  both  the  one  and  the 
other. 

Solitude  not  only  refines  the  enjoyments  of  friendship, 
but  enables  us  to  acquire  friends  from  whom  nothing 
can  alienate  our  souls,  and  to  whose  arms  we  never  fly 
in  vain. 

The  friends  of  Petrarch  sometimes  apologized  to  him 
for  their  long  absence.  "  It  is  impossible  for  us,"  said 
they,  "  to  follow  your  example ;  the  life  you  lead  at 
Vaucluse  is  contrary  to  human  nature.  In  winter  you 
eit  like  an  owl  in  the  chimney  corner.  In  summer 


UPOX  THE  HEART.  95 

you  are  running  incessantly  about  the  fields."  Pe- 
trarch smiled  at  these  observations.  "  These  people," 
said  he,  "  consider  the  pleasures  of  the  world  as  the 
supreme  good ;  and  cannot  bear  the  idea  of  renouncing 
them.  I  have  friends  whose  society  is  extremely 
agreeable  to  me :  they  are  of  all  ages,  and  of  every 
country.  They  have  distinguished  themselves  both  in 
the  cabinet  and  in  the  field,  and  obtained  high  honors 
for  their  knowledge  of  the  sciences.  It  is  easy  to  gain 
access  to  them,  for  they  arc  always  at  my  service ;  and 
I  admit  them  to  my  company,  and  dismiss  them  from 
it  whenever  I  please.  They  are  never  troublesome,  but 
immediately  answer  every  question  I  ask  them.  Some 
relate  to  me  the  events  of  past  ages,  while  others  reveal 
to  me  the  secrets  of  nature.  Some  teach  me  how  to  live, 
and  others  how  to  die.  Some,  by  their  vivacity,  drive 
away  my  cares,  and  exhilirate  my  spirits;  while  others 
give  fortitude  to  my  mind,  and  teach  me  the  important 
lesson  how  to  restrain  my  desires,  and  to  depend  on 
myself.  They  open  to  me,  in  short,  the  various  ave- 
nues of  all  the  arts  and  sciences;  and  upon  their  infor- 
mation I  safely  rely  in  all  emergencies.  In  return  for 
all  these  services,  they  only  ask  me  to  accommodate 
them  with  a  convenient  chamber  in  some  corner  of  my 
humble  habitation,  where  they  may  repose  in  peace : 
for  these  friends  are  more  delighted  with  the  tranquil- 
lity of  retirement,  than  with  the  tumults  of  society." 
Love !  the  most  precious  gift  of  heaven, 

"  The  cordial  drop  Hc.iv'n  in  our  cup  has  tlirown. 
To  make  the  bitter  load  of  life  go  dowrij" 


appears  to  merit  a  distinguished  rank  among  the  ad- 
vantages of  solitude. 

Love  voluntarily  unites  itself  with  the  aspect  of 
beautiful  nature.  The  view  of.  a  pleasing  landscape 
makes  the  heartbeat  with  the  tenderest emotions.  The 
lonely  mountain  and  the  silent  grove  increase  the  sus- 
ceptibility of  the  female  bosom,  inspire  the  mind  with 
rapturous  enthusiasm,  and,  sooner  or  later,  draw  aside 
and  subjugate  the  heart. 

Women' feel  the  pure  and  tranquil  pleasures  of  rural 
life  with  a  higher  sensibility  than  men.  They  enjoy 
more  exquisitely  the  beauties  of  a  lonely  walk,  the 
freshness  of  a  shady  forest,  and  admire  with  higher 


93  INFLUENCE  OF  SOLITUDE 

ecstacy  the  charms  of  nature.  Solitude  is  to  them  the 
school  of  true  philosophy.  In  England,  at  least,  where 
the  face  of  the  country  is  so  beautiful,  and  where  the 
taste  of  its  inhabitants  is  hourly  adding  to  it  new  em- 
bellishments, the  love  of  rural  solitude  is  certainly 
stronger  in  the  women  than  the  men.  A  nobleman 
who  employs  the  day  in  riding  over  his  estates  or  in 
following  the  hounds,  does  not  enjoy  the  pleasures  of 
rural  life  with  the  same  delight  as  his  lady,  who  devotes 
her  time,  in  her  romantic  pleasure  grounds,  to  needle 
work,  or  to  the  reading  of  some  instructive,  interesting 
work.  In  this  happy  country,  indeed,  where  the  people, 
in  general,  love  the  enjoyments  of  the  mind,  the  calm 
of  rural  retirement  is  doubly  valuable,  and  its  delights 
more  exquisite.  The  learning  which  has  of  late  years 
so  considerably  increased  among  the  ladies  of  Germany, 
is  certainly  to  be  attributed  to  their  love  of  retirement; 
for,  among  those  who  pass  their  time  in  the  country, 
we  find  much  more  true  wit  and  rational  sentiment, 
than  among  the  beaux  esprits  of  the  metropolis. 

Minds,  indeed,  apparently  insensible  in  the  atmos- 
phere of  a  metropolis,  unfold  themselves  with  rapture 
m  the  country.  This  is  the  reason  why  the  return  of 
spring  fills  every  tender  breast  with  love.  "What  can 
more  resemble  love,"  says  a  celebrated  German  philoso- 
pher, "  than  the  feeling  \vith  which  my  soul  is  inspired 
at  the  sight  of  this  magnificent  valley,  thus  illuminated 
by  the  setting  sun !"  Rousseau  felt  an  inexpressible 
delight  on  viewing  the  first  appearances  of  spring :  the 
earliest  blossoms  of  that  charming  season  gave  new  life 
and  vigor  to  his  mind  ;  the  tenderest  dispositions  of  his 
heart  were  awakened  and  augmented  by  the  soft  ver- 
dure it  presented  to  his  eyes :  and  the  charmsof  his  mis- 
tress were  assimilated  with  the  beauties  that  surrounded 
him  on  every  side.  The  view  of  an  extensive  and  pleas- 
ing prospect  softened  his  sorrows  ;  and  he  breathed  his 
sighs  with  exquisite  delight  amidst  the  rising  flowers  of 
his  garden,  and  the  rich  fruits  of  his  orchard. 

Lovers  constantly  seek  the  rural  grove  to  indulge,  in 
the  tranquillity  of  retirement,  the  uninterrupted  contem- 
plation of  the  beloved  object  which  forms  the  sole  hap- 
piness of  their  lives.  Of  what  importance  to  them  are 
all  the  transactions  of  the  world,  or,  indeed,  any  thing- 
thai  does  not  tend  to  indulge  the  passion  that  fills  their 
hearts  ?  Silent  groves,  embowering  glades,  or  the  lone- 
ly borders  of  murmuring  streams,  where  they  may  free- 


UPON  THE  HEART. 

ly  resign  themselves  to  their  fond  reflections,  are  the 
only  confidants  of  their  souls.  A  lovely  shepherdess, 
offering  her  fostering  bosom  to  the  infant  she  is  nursing, 
while  at  her  side  her  well-beloved  partner  sits  dividing 
with  her  his  morsel  of  hard  black  bread,  is  an  hundred 
times  more  happy  than  all  the  fops  of  the  town :  for 
love  inspires  his  mind,  in  the  highest  degree,  with  all 
that  is  elevated,  delightful  and  affecting  in  nature :  and 
warms  the  coldest  bosoms  with  the  greatest  sensibility 
and  the  highest  rapture. 

Love's  softest  images  spring  up  anew  in  solitude. 
The  remembrance  of  these  emotions  which  the  first 
blush  of  conscious  tenderness,  the  first  gentle  pres- 
sure of  the  hand,  the  first  dread  of  interruption,  create, 
recurs  incessantly  !  Time,  it  is  said,  extinguishes  the 
flame  of  love ;  but  solitude  renews  the  fire,  and  calls 
forth  those  agents  which  lie  long  concealed,  and  only 
wait  a  favorable  moment  to  display  their  powers.  The 
whole  course  of  youthful  feeling' again  beams  forth  ; 
and  the  mind — delicious  recollection  ! — fondly  retrac- 
ing the  first  affection  of  the  heart,  fills  the  bosom  with 
an  indelible  sense  of  those  high  ecstacies  which  a  con- 
noisseur has  said,  vvith  as  much  truth  as  enerey,  pro- 
claim, for  the  first  time,  that  happy  discovery,  that  for- 
tunate moment,  when  two  lovers  first  perceive  their 
mutual  fondness. 

Herder  mentions  a  certain  cast  of  people  in  Asia, 
whose  mythology  thus  divided  the  felicities  of  eternity. 
"That  men,  after  death,  were,  in  the  celestial  regions, 
immediately  the  objects  of  female  love  during  the  course 
of  a  thousand  years ;  first  by  tender  looks,  then  by  a 
balmy  kiss,  and  afterwards,  by  immediate  alliance." 

It  was  this  noble  and  sublime  species  of  affection 
that  Wieland,  in  the  warmest  moments  of  impassioned 
youth  felt  for  an  amiable,  sensible,  and  beautiful  lady 
of  Zurich  :  for  that  extraordinary  genius  was  perfectly 
satisfied,  that  the  metaphysical  effects  of  love,  begin 
with  the  first  sigh,  and  expire,  to  a  certain  degree,  with, 
the  first  kiss.  I  one  day  asked  this  young  lady  when 
it  was  that  Wieland  had  saluted  her  for  the  first  time? 
"  Wieland,"  replied  the  amiable  girl,  "did  not  kiss  my 
hand  for  the  first  ti  me  until  four  years  after  our  acquain- 
tance commenced." 

Youn?  persons,  in  general,  however,  do  not,  like 
Wieland,  adopt  the  mystic  refinements  of  love.  Yield- 
ing to  the  sentiments  which  the  passion  inspires,  and 
9 


98  INFLUENCE  OF  SOLITUDE 

less  acquaintance!  with  its  metaphysical  riaturej  they 
feel  at  an  earlier  age,  in  the  tranquillity  of  solitude^ 
that  irresistible  impulse  to  the  union  of  the  sexes  which 
the  God  of  nature  has  so  strongly  implanted  in  the 
.human  breast. 

A  lady  who  resided  in  great  retirement,  at  a  romantic 
cottage  upon  the  banks  of  the  lake  of  Geneva^  had  three 
innocent  and  lovely  daughters.  The  eldest  was  about 
fourteen  years  of  age^  the  youngest  was  about  nine, 
when  they  were  presented  with  a  tame  bird,  which  hop- 
ped and  flew  about  the  chamber  the  whole  day,  and 
formed  the  sole  amusement  and  pleasure  of  their  lives. 
Placing  themselves  on  their  knees,  they  offered,  with 
unwearied  delight,  their  little  favorite,  pieces  of  biscuit 
from  their  fingers,  and  endeavored,  by  every  means,  to 
induce  him  to  fly  to,  and  nestle  in,  their  bosoms  ;  but  the 
bird,  the  moment  he  had  got  the  biscuit,  with  cunning 
coyness  eluded  their  hopes,  and  hopped  away.  The  lit- 
tle favorite  at  length  died.  A  year  after  this  event, 
the  youngest  of  the  three  sisters  said  to  her  mother, 
"  Oh,  I  remember  that  dear  little  bird !  I  wish,  mamma, 
you  could  procure  me  such  a  one  to  play  with."  "  Oh ! 
no,"  replied  her  elder  sister,  "I  should  like  to  have  a 
little  dog  to  play  with  better  than  any  thing.  I  could 
catch  a  little  dog,  take  him  on  my  knee,  hug  him  in  my 
arms.  A  bird  affords  me  no  pleasure;  he  perches  a 
little  while  on  my  ringer,  than  flies  away,  and  there  is 
no  catching  him  again:  but  a  little  dog,  oh  I  what 
pleasure. .," 

I  shall  never  forget  the  poor  religieuse  in  whose  apart- 
ment I  found  a  breeding  cage  of  canary  birds,  nor  for- 
five  myself  for  having  burst  into  a  fit  of  laughter  at  the 
iscovery.    It  was.  alas !  the  suggestion  of  nature ;  and 
who  can  resist  what  nature  suggests?    This  mystic 
wandering  of  religious  minds,  this  celestial  epilepsy  of 
love,  this  premature  effect  of  solitude,  is  only  the  tond 
application  of  natural  inclination  raised  superior  to  all 
others. 

Absence  and  tranquillity  appear  so  favorable  to  the 
indulgence  of  this  pleasing  passion,  that  lovers  fre- 
quently quit  the  beloved  object,  to  reflect  in  solitude  on 
her  charms.  Who  does  not  recollect  to  have  read,  in 
the  Confessions  of  Rousseau,  the  story  related  by  Ma- 
dame de  Luxembcrg,  of  a  lover  who  quitted  the  pres- 
ence of  his  mistress,  only  that  he  might  have  the  pleas- 
ure of  writing  to  her.  Rousseau  replied  to  Madame  de 


tTPON  THE   HEART.  99 

JLuxemberg,  thai  he  wished  he  had  been  that  man  ;  and 
his  wish  was  founded  on  a  perfect  knowledge  of  the 
passion  :  for  who  has  ever  been  in  love,  and  does  not 
know  tuat  there  are  moments  when  the  pen  is  capable 
of  expressing  the  fine  feelings  of  the  heart  with  much 
greater  effect  than  the  voice,  with  its  miserable  organ 
of  speech  /  The  tongue,  even  in  its  happiest  elocution, 
is  never  so  persuasive  as  the  speaking  eyes,  when  lovers 
gaze  with  silent  ecstacy  on  each  other's  charms. 

Lovers  not  only  express,  but  feel  their  passion  with 
higher  ecstacy  and  happiness  in  solitude  than  in  any 
other  situation.  What  fashionable  lover  ever  painted 
his  passion  for  a  lovely  mistress  with  such  laconic  ten- 
derness and  effect,  as  the  village  chorister  of  Hanover 
did  on  the  death  of  a  young  and  beautiful  country  girl 
with  whom  he  was  enamored,  when,  after  erecting 
in  the  cemetry  of  the  cathedral,  a  sepulchral  stone  to 
her  memory,  he  carved,  in  an  artless  manner,  the  figure 
of  a  blooming  rose  on  its  front,  and  inscribed  beneath 
it  these  words :  C'est  ainsi  qrfelle.fut. 

It  was  at  the  feet  of  those  rocks  which  overhung  the 
celebrated  ret  real  at  Vaucluse,  that  Petrarch  composed 
his  finest  sonnets  to  deplore  the  absence,  or  to  complain 
of  the  cruelty  of  his  beloved  Laura.  The  Italians  are 
of  opinion,  that  when  love  inspired  his  muse,  his  poet- 
ry soared  far  beyond  that  of  any  poet  who  ever  wrote 
before  or  since  his  time,  either  in  the  Greek,  the  Latin, 
or  the  Tuscan  languages.  "  Ah  !  how  soft  and  tender 
is  this  language  of  the  heart !"  they  exclaim.  "  Pe- 
trarch alone  was  acquainted  with  its  power:  he  has 
added  to  the  three  graces  a  fourth— the  grace  of  deli- 
cacy." 

Love,  however,  when  indulged  jn  rural  solitude  or 
amidst  the  romantic  scenery  of  an  ancient  castle,  and, 
assisted  by  the  ardent  imagination  of  impetuous  youth, 
frequently  assumes  a  more  bold  and  violent  character. 
Religious  enthusiasm,  blended  with  a  saturnine  disposi- 
tion~forms,  in  effervescent  minds,  a  sublime  and  extra- 
ordinary compound  of  the  feelings  of  the  heart.  A 
youthful  lover  of  this  description,  when  deprived  of  the 
smiles  of  his  mistress,  takes  his  first  declaration  of  love 
from  the  text  of  the  apocalypse  and  thinks  his  passion 
an  eternal  melancholy ;  but  when  he  is  inclined  to 
sharpen  the  dart  within  his  breast,  his  inspired  mind 
views  in  the  beloved  object  the  fairest  model  of  divine 
jxsrfccticn, 


100  INFLUENCE  OF  SOLITUDE 

The  lovers  of  this  romantic  cast,  placed  m  some 
ancient  solitary  castle,  soar  far  beyond  the  common 
tribe,  and,  as  their  ideas  refine,  their  passions  become 
proportionably  sublime.  Surrounded  by  stupendous 
rocks,  and  impressed  by  the  awful  stilness  of  the  scene, 
the  beloved  youth  is  considered  not  merely  as  an  ami- 
able and  virtuous  man,  but  as  a  god.  The  inspired 
mind  of  the  fond  female  fancies  her  bosom  to  be  the 
sanctuary  of  love,  and  conceives  her  affection  for  the 
youthful  idol  of  her  heart  to  be  an  emanation  from 
heaven:  a  ray  of  the  Divine  Presence.  Ordinary  lov- 
ers;  without  doubt,  in  spite  of  absence,  unite  their  souls, 
write  by  every  post,  seize  all  occasions  to  converse  with, 
or  hear  from,  each  other ;  but  our  more  sublime  and 
exalted  female  introduces  into  her  romance  of  passion 
every  butterfly  she  meets  with,  and  all  the  feathered 
songsters  of  the  groves ;  and,  except  in  the  object  of 
her  love,  no  longer  sees  any  thing  as  it  really  is. 
Reason  and  sense  no  longer  guide:  the  refinements  of 
love  direct  all  her  movements ;  she  tears  the  world  from 
its  poles,  and  the  sun  from  its  axis-  and  to  prove  that 
all  she  does  is  right,  establishes  for  herself  and  her  lov- 
er a  new  gospel,  and  a  new  system  of  morality. 

A  fewer,  separated,  perhaps,  forever,  from  a  mistress 
who  has  made  the  most  important  sacrifices  to  his  hap- 
piness; who  was  his  only  consolation  in  affliction,  his 
only  comfort  in  calamity;  whose  kindness  supported 
his  sinking  fortitude ;  who  remained  his  faithful  and 
his  only  friend  in  dire  adversity  and  domestic  sorrow  ; 
seeks,  as  his  sole  resource,  a  slothful  solitude.  Nights 
passed  in  sleepless  agonies ;  a  distaste  of  life,  a  desire 
of  death,  an  abhorrence  of  all  society,  and  a  love  of 
dreary  seclusion,  drive  him,  day,  after  day,  wandering-, 
as  chance  may  direct,  though  the  most  solitary  retire- 
ments far  from  the  hated  traces  of  mankind.  Were  he, 
however,  to  wander  from  the  Elbe  to  the  lake  of  Gene- 
va ;  were  he  to  seek  relief  in  the  frozen  confines  of  the 
north,  or  the  burning  regions  of  the  west,  to  the  utrvpst 
extremities  of  the  earth  or  seas,  he  would  still  be  like 
the  hind  described  by  Virgil: 

"  Stun?  with  the  stroke  and  madding  with  the  pain 
She  wildly  flies  from  wood  to  wood  in  vain  ; 
Shixits  o'er  the  Creian  lawn  with  many  a  bound, 
The  ".leaving  dart  still  rankling  in  the  wound," 

Petrarch,  on  returning  to  Vaucluse,  felt  with  new  rnd 
increasing-  stings  the  passion  which  perturbed  his  breast. 


UPON  THE  HEART.  101 

Immediately  on  his  arrival  at  this  sequestered  spot,  the 
image  of  his  beloved  Laura  incessantly  haunted  his 
imagination.  He  beheld  her  at  all  times,  in  every  place, 
and  under  a  thousand  different  forms.  "Three  times 
in  the  middle  of  the  night  when  every  door  was  closed, 
she  appeared  to  me."  says  he,  "  at  the  feet  of  my  bed, 
with  a  steadfast  look,  as  if  confident  of  the  power  of  her 
charms.  Fear  spread  a  chilling  dew  over  all  my  limbs. 
My  blood  thrilled  through  my  veins  towards  my  heart. 
If  any  one  had  then  entered  my  apartment  with  a  can- 
dle, they  would  have  beheld  me  as  pale  as  death,  with 
every  mark  of  terror  on  my  face.  Rising  before  the 
break  of  day,  with  trembling  limbs,  from  my  disordered 
bed,  and  hastily  leaving  my  house,  where  every  thing 
created  alarm,  I  climbed  to  the  summit  of  the  rocks, 
and  ran  wildly  through  the  woods,  casting  my  eyes 
incessantly  on  every  side,  to  see  if  the  form  which  had 
haunted  my  repose,  still  pursued  me.  Alas !  I  could 
find  no  asylum.  Places  the  most  sequestered,  where 
I  fondly  flattered  myself  that  I  should  be  alone,  pre- 
sented her  continually  to  my  mind ;  and  I  beheld  her 
sometimes  issuing  from  the  hollow  trunk  of  a  tree, 
from  the  concealed  source  of  a  spring,  or  from  the 
dark  cavity  of  a  broken  rock.  Fear  rendered  me  in- 
sensible, and  I  neither  know  what  I  did,  or  where  I 
wont." 

The  heart  of  Petrarch  was  frequently  stimulated  by 
ideas  of  voluptuous  pleasure,  even  among  the  rocks  of 
Vaucluse,  where  he  sought  an  asylum  from  love  and 
Laura.  He  soon,  however,  banished  sensuality  from 
his  mi«d,  and,  by  refining  his  passion,  acquired  that  vi- 
vacity and  heavenly  purity  which  breathes  in  every  line 
of  those  immortal  lyrics  he  composed  among  the  rocks. 
But  the  city  of  Avignon,  in  which  the  object  thus  ten- 
derly beloved  resided,  was  not  sufficiently  distant  from 
the  place  of  his  retreat,  and  he  visited  it  too  frequently. 
A  passion  indeed,  like  that  which  Petrarch  felt,  leaves 
the  bosom,  even  when  uncorrupted,  totally  incapable 
of  tranquillity.  It  is  a  violent  fever  of  the  soul,  which 
inflicts  UIXMI  the  body  a  complication  of  painful  disor- 
ders. Let  lovers,  therefore,  while  they  possess  some 
control  over  the  passion  which  fills  their  breasts,  seat 
themselves  on  the  borders  of  a  river,  and  reflect  that 
love,  like  the  stream,  sometimes  precipitates  itself  with 
violence  down  the  rocks ;  and  sometimes  flowing  with 
soft  tranquillity  along  the  plain,  meanders  through  mea- 
9* 


102  INFL0ENCE  OP  SOLITUDE 

dows,  and  loses  itself  beneath  the  peaceful  shades  of 
solitary  bowers. 

The  tranquillity  of  solitude,  however,  may,  to  a  mind 
disposed  to  resign  itself  with  humility  to  all  the  dis- 
pensations of  heaven,  be  found  not  disadvantageous  to 
the  perturbations  of  love.  A  lover  whom  death  has 
bereaved  of  the  dear  object  of  his  affection,  seeks  only 
those  places  which  his  favorite  inhabited ;  considers 
every  other  as  desert  and  forlorn ;  and  expects  that  death 
alone  is  able  to  stop  the  torrent  of  his  tears.  Such  an 
indulgence  of  sorrow,  however,  cannot  be  called  a  res- 
ignation to  the  will  of  God.  A  lover  of  this  description 
is  attached  solely  to  the  irrecoverable  object  of  his  in- 
creasing sorrows.  His  distracted  mind  fondly  hopes 
that  she  may  still  return ;  he  thinks  he  hears  her  soft 
enchanting  voice  in  every  breeze ;  he  sees  her  lovely 
form  approaching,  and  opens  his  expecting  arms  to 
clasp  her  once  again  to  his  still  throbbing  breast.  But 
he  finds,  alas!  his  hopes  are  vain:  the  fancy-breath- 
ing form  eludes  his  grasp,  and  convinces  him  that  the 
delightful  vision  was  only  the  light  and  love-formed 
phantom  of  his  sorrow-sickened  mind.  A  sad  remem- 
brance of  her  departed  spirit  is  the  only  comfort  of  his 
lingering  life:  he  flies  to  the  tomb  where  her  mortal 
remains  were  deposited,  plants  roses  round  her  shrine, 
waters  them  with  his  tears,  cultivates  them  with  the 
tenderest.  care,  kisses  them  as  emblems  of  her  blushing 
cheeks,  and  tastes,  with  sighing  transports,  their  balmy 
fragrance  as  the  fancied  odor  of  her  ruby  lips. 

It  must  afford  infinite  pleasure  to  every  philosophic 
mind,  to  reflect  on  the  victory  which  the  virtuous  Pe- 
trarch gained  over  the  passion  that  assailed  his  heart. 
During  his  retreat  into  Italy  from  love  and  Laura,  his 
friends  in  France  used  every  endeavor  to  induce  him 
to  return.  One  of  them  wrote  to  him  : — "  What  demon 
possesses  you ; — How  could  you  quit  a  country  in  which 
you  indulged  all  the  propensities  of  youth,  and  where 
the  graceful  figure  which  you  formerly  adorned  with 
so  much  care,  procured  you  such  unbounded  admira- 
tion ? — How  canyon  live  thus  exiled  from  Laura,  whom 
you  love  with  so  much  tenderness,  and  whose  heart  is 
so  deeply  afflicted  by  your  absence?" 

Petrarch  replied :  "  Your  anxiety  is  vain :  I  am  re- 
solved to  continue  where  I  am.  I  ride  here  safely  at 
anchor ;  and  all  the  hurricanes  of  eloquence  shall  never 
drive  me  from  it.  How  then  can  you  expect  to  per- 


UPON  THE   BEART.  108 

suade  me  to  change  this  resolution,  merely  by  placing 
before  my  eyes  the  deviations  of  my  youth  which  I 
ought  to  forget ;  by  describing  an  illicit  passion  which 
left  me  no  other  resource  than  a  precipitate  flight;  and 
by  extolling  the  meretricious  advantages  of  a  handsome 
person,  which  too  long  occupied  my  attention.  These 
are  follies  I  must  no  longer  think  of.  I  am  now  rapidly 
approaching  toward  the  last  goal  on  the  course  of  life. 
Objects  more  serious  and  important  now  occupy  my 
thoughts.  God  forbid,  that,  listening  to  your  flattering 
observations,  I  should  again  throw  myself  into  the 
snares  of  love,  again  put  on  a  yoke  which  so  severely 
galled  me  !— The  natural  levity  of  youth  apologizes. 
in  some  degree,  for  the  indiscretions  it  creates ;  out  I 
should  despise  myself,  if  I  could  now  be  tempted  to 
revisit  either  the  bower  of  love,  or  the  theatre  of  ambi- 
tion. Your  suggestions,  however,  have  produced  a 
proper  effect ;  for  I  consider  them  as  the  oblique  cen- 
sures of  a  friend  upon  my  past -misconduct.  The  so- 
licitudes of  the  gay  and  busy  world  no  longer  disturb 
my  mind  :  for  my  heart  has  tenaciously  rooted  all  its 
fibres  in  this  delightful  solitude,  where  I  rove  at  large, 
free  and  unconstrained,  without  inquietude  or  care.  In 
summer  I  repose  upon  the  verdant  turf  beneath  the 
shade  of  some  embowering  tree,  or  saunter  along  the 
enamelled  boarders  of  a  cool,  refreshing  stream.  At 
the  approach  of  autumn  I  seek  the  woods,  and  join  the 
muses'  train.  This  mode  of  life  is  surely  preferable  to 
a  life  at  court,  where  nothing  but  disgusting  jealousies 
and  corroding  cares  exist.  I  have  now,  in  short,  no 
wish,  except  That,  when  death  relieves  me  both  from 
pleasure  and  from  pain,  I  may  recline  my  head  upon 
the  bosom  of  a  friend,  whose  eyes,  while  he  performs 
the  last  office  of  closing  mine,  will  drop  a  deploring 
tear  upon  my  departing  spirit,  and  convey  my  remains, 
with  friendly  care,  to  a  decent  tomb  in  my  native  coun- 
try." 

These  were  the  sentiments  of  the  philosopher :  but, 
after  a  short  interval  the  man  returned  once  again  to 
the  city  of  Avignon,  and  only  visited  his  retreat  at 
Vaucluse  occasionally. 

Petrarch,  however,  by  these  continued  endeavors  to 
subdue  the  violence  of  his  passion,  acquired  a  sublimi- 
ty and  richness  of  imagination,  which  distinguished 
his  character,  and  gave  nim  an  ascendency  over  the 
age  in  which  he  lived,  greater  than  any  of  the  literati 


104  INFLCENCE  OF  SOLITUDE 

foave  since  attained.  To  use  the  expression  of  the 
poet,  he  was  capable  of  passing,  with  the  happiest  faci- 
lity, 

"  From  grave  to  gay,  from  lively  to  severe : 

and  was  enabled,  as  occasion  required,  to  conceive  the 
boldest  enterprises,  and  to  execute  them  with  the  most 
heroic  courage  He  who  languished,  sighed,  and  even 
wept  with  unmanly  softness,  at  the  feet  of  his  mistress, 
breathing  only  the  tender  and  affectionate  language  of 
gentle  love,  no  sooner  turned  his  thoughts  toward  the 
transactions  of  Rome,  than  he  assumed  a  higher  tone, 
and  not  only  wrote,  but  acted  with  all  the  strength  and 
spirit  of  the  Augustan  age.  Monarehs  have  relinquish^ 
ed  the  calls  of  hunger,  and  the  charms  of  rest,  to  iiir 
dulge  the  tender  luxuries  his  love-lorn  muse  afforded. 
But  at  a  more  advanced  age  he  was  no  longerasighing 
minstrel,  chaunting  amorous  verses  to  a  relentless  fair ; 
he  was  no  longer  an  effeminate  slave,  that  kissed  the 
chains  of  an  imperious  mistress,  who  treated  him  with 
disdain  :  he  became  a  7,ealous  republican,  who  spread 
by  his  writings  the  spirit  of  liberty  throughout  Italy, 
and  sounded  a  loud  alarm  against  tyranny  and  tyrants. 
Great  as  a  statesman,  profound  and  judicious  as  a  pub- 
Jic  minister,  he  was  consulted  in  the  most  important 
political  transactions  of  Europe,  and  frequently  employ- 
ed in  the  most  arduous  and  difficult  negotiations.  Zear 
lously  active  in  the  cause  of  humanity,  he  anxiously 
endeavored,  on  occasions,  to  extinguish  the  torch  of 
discord.  The  greatest  princes,  conscious  of  his  extraorr 
dinary  genius,  solicited  his  company,  and  endeavored, 
by  listening  to  his  precepts,  to  learn  the  noble  art  of 
rendering  their  countries  respectable,  and  their  people 
happy. 

These  traits  of  Petrarch's  character  clearly  evince 
that,  oppressed  as  he  was  by  the  passion  of  love,  lie 
derived  great  advantages  from  solitude.  The  retire- 
ment at  Vaucluse  was  not,  as  is  commonly  imagined,  a 
pretence  to  be  nearer  the  person  of  Laura,  for  Laura  rer 
sided  altogether  at  Avignon ;  but  ameans  of  avoiding  the 
frown  of  his  mistress,  and  of  flying  from  the  contaeion 
of  a  corrupt  court.  Seated  in  hislittle  garden,  wfiich 
was  situated  at  the  foot  of  a  lofty  mountain,  and  sur- 
rounded by  a  rapid  stream,  his  soul  rose  superior  to 
the  adversities  of  his  fate.  His  disposition,  indeed,  was 
restless  and  unquiet ;  but  in  his  tranquil  mq- 


tTC>N  THE  HfiAKT.  105 

a  sound  judgment,  joined  to  an  exquisite  sensi- 
bility, enabled  him  to  enjoy  the  delights  of  solitude  with 
singular  advantage;  and  to  find  in  his  retreat  at  Vau- 
cluse,  the  temple  of  peace,  the  residence  of  calm  repose, 
and  a  safe  harbor  against  all  the  tempests  9f  the  soul. 

The  flame  of  love,  therefore,  although  it  cannot  be 
entirely  extinguished,  may  be  greatly  purified  and  re- 
fined by  solitude.  Man  indeed,  ought  not  to  extirpate 
the  passions  which  the  God  of  nature  has  planted  in 
the  human  heart,  but  to  direct  them  to  their  proper 
ends. 

To  avoid  such  miseries  as  Petrarch  endured,  the 
pleasures  of  retirement  should  be  shared  with  some 
amiable  female,  who,  better  than  the  cold  precepts  of 
philosophy,  will  beguile  or  banish,  by  the  charms  of 
conversation,  all  the  cares  and  torments  of  life. 

It  has  been  said  by  a  very  sensible  author,  that  "the 

Cresence  of  one  thinking  being  like  ourselves,  whose 
osom  glows  with  sympathy,  and  whose  affection  we 
l>ossess,  so  far  from  destroying  the  advantages  of  soli- 
tude, renders  them  more  favorable.  If,  like  me  you 
owe  your  happiness  to  the  fond  attention  of  a  wife,  you 
will  soon  be  induced,  by  her  kindness,  by  her  tender 
and  unreserved  communication  of  every  sentiment  of 
her  mind,  every  feeling  of  her  heart,  to  forget  the  so- 
ciety of  the  world  ;  and  your  happiness  will  be  as  pleas- 
ingly diversified,  as  the  employments  and  vicissitudes 
of  your  lives." 

The  orator  who  S|>eaks  so  eloquently  must  have  felt 
with  exquisite  sensibility  the  pleasures  he  describes; 
"  Here,"  says  he,  "every  kind  expression  is  remember- 
ed ;  the  emotions  of  one  heart  correspond  with  those  of 
the  other;  every  thought  is  treasured  up;  every  tes- 
timony of  affection  is  returned  ;  the  happy  pair  enjoy 
in  each  other's  company  all  llie  pleasures  of  the  mind ; 
and  there  is  no  felicity  which  does  not  communicate 
itself  to  their  he-arts.  To  beings  thus  united  by  the 
sineerest  affection,  and  the  closest  friendship,  every 
thing  that  is  said  or  done,  every  wish,  and  every  event, 
becomes  mutually  important.  No  jealous  fears,  no  en- 
vious stinirs,  disturb  their  happiness  ;  faults  are  pointed 
out  with  cautious  tenderness  and  good  nature;  looks 
bespeak  the  inclinations  of  the  soul ;  every  wish  and 
every  desire  is  anticipated;  every  view  and  intention 
assimilated ;  and,  the  sentiments  of  one,  conforming 
to  those  of  the  oilier,  each  rejoices  with  cordiality  at 
the  smallest  advantage  which  the  other  acquires. 


106  INFLUENCE   OP   3CLITCDE 

Thus  it  is  that  the  solitude  which  we  share  with  an 
amiable  object  produces  tranquillity,  satisfaction,  and 
heartfelt  joy ;  and  makes  the  humblest  cottage  a  dwell- 
ing place  of  the  purest  pleasure. 

Love,  in  the  shades  of  retirement,  while  the  mind 
and  the  heart  are  in  harmony  with  each  other,  inspires 
the  noblest  sentiments ;  raises  the  understanding  to  the 
highest  sphere  of  intellect :  fills  the  bosom  with  increas- 
ed benevolence ;  destroys  all  the  seeds  of  vice,  and  me- 
liorates and  extends  all  the  virtues.  By  its  delightful  in- 
fluence the  attack  of  ill-humor  is  resisted :  the  violence 
of  our  passions  abated  :  the  bitter  cup  of  human  afflic- 
tion sweetened  ;  all  the  injuries  of  the  world  alleviated  ; 
and  the  sweetest  flowers  plentifully  strewed  along  the 
thorny  paths  of  life.  Every  unhappy  sufferer,  whether 
the  malady  be  of  the  body  or  the  mind,  derives  from 
this  source  extraordinary  comfort  and  consolation.  At 
a  time,  alas !  when  every  thing  displeased  me,  when 
every  object  was  disgusting,  when  my  sufferings  had 
destroyed  all  the  energy  and  vigor  of  my  soul,  when 
grief  had  shut  from  my  streaming  eyes  the  beauties  of 
nature,  and  rendered  the  whole  universe  a  dreary  tomb, 
the  kind  attentions  of  a  wife  were  capable  of  conveying 
a  secret  charm,  a  silent  consolation  to  my  mind.  Oh  ! 
nothing  can  render  the  bowers  of  retirement  so  serene 
and  comfortable,  or  can  so  sweetly  soften  all  our  woes, 
as  a  conviction  that  woman  is  not  indifferent  to  our 
fate. 

Solitude,  it  is  true,  will  not  completely  heal  every 
wound  which  this  imperious  passion  is  capable  of  in- 
flicting on  the  human  heart ;  but  it  teaches  us  to  endure 
our  pains  without  wishing  for  relief,  and  enables  us  to 
convert  them  into  soft  sorrow  and  plaintive  grief. 

Both  sexes  in  early  youth,  but  particularly  females 
from  fifteen  to  eighteen  years  of  age,  who  possess  high 
sensibilities,  and  lively  imaginations,  generally  feel 
during  the  solitude  of  rural  retirement,  a  soft  and  pleas- 
Ing  melancholy,  when  their  bosoms  begin  to  heave  with 
the  first  propensities  of  love.  They  wander  every 
where  in  search  of  a  beloved  object,  and  sigh  for  one 
alone,  long  before  the  heart  is  fixed  in  its  affection,  or 
the  mind  conscious  of  its  latent  inclination.  I  have 
frequently  observed  this  disposition  unaccompanied  by 
any  sympton  of  ill  health.  It  is  an  original  malady. 
Rousseau  felt  its  influence  at  Vevay,  upon  the  borders 
of  the  lake  of  Geneva.  '  My  heart,"  sajs  he,  "  rushed 


UPON  THE   HEAfif.  107 

ardor  from  ray  bosom  into  a  thousand  innocent 
felicities;  and  melting  into  tenderness,  I  sighed  and 
wept  like  a  child.  How  frequently,  stopping  to  indulge 
my  feelings,  and  seating  myself  on  a  piece  of  broken 
rock,  did  I  amuse  myself  with  seeing  my  tears  drop 
into  the  stream !" 

Retirement,  however,  is  not  equally  favorable  to* 
every  species  of  affliction.  Some  bosoms  are  so  ex- 
quisitely alive  to  the  sense  of  misfortune,  that  the  in- 
delible remembrance  of  the  object  of  their  affection 
preys  upon  their  minds:  the  reading  of  a  single  line 
written  by  the  hand  they  loved,  freezes  their  blood ; 
the  very  sight  of  the  tomb  which  has  swallowed  up  the 
remains  of  all  their  soul  held  dear,  is  intolerable  to 
their  eyes.  On  such  beings,  alas  !  the  heavens  smile  in 
vain:  to  them  the  new-born  flowers  and  the  twittering 
groves,  proclaiming  the  approach  of  spring  and  there- 
generation  of  vegetable  nature,  bring  no  charms ;  the 
garden's  variegated  hues  irritate  their  feelings ;  and  the 
silent  retreats,  from  which  they  once  expected  conso- 
lation, only  increase  their  pains.  Such  refined  and  ex-' 
quisite  feelings,  the  offspring  of  warm  and  generous 
passion,  are  real  misfortunes  ;  and  the  malady  they  en- 
g'ender  requires  to  be  treated  with  the  mildest  attention 
and  the  teiiderest  cafe. 

But  to  minds  of  softer  temper  solitude  possesses  many" 
powerful  charms,  although  the  losses  they  deplore  are 
equally  great.  Such  characters  feel,  indeed,  a  sense  of 
their  misfortune  in  its  utmost  possible  extent,  but  they 
soften  its  acuteness  by  yielding  to  the  natural  mildness 
of  their  dispositions:  they  plant  upon  the  fatal  tomb 
the  weeping  willow  and  the  ephemeral  rose ;  they  erect 
mausolea:  compose  funeral  dirges;  and  render  the 
very  emblems  of  death,  the  means  of  consolation. 
Their  hearts  are  continually  occupied  by  the  idea  of 
those  whom  (heir  eyes  deplore ;  and  they  exist  under 
the  sensations  of  the  truest  and  most  sincere  sorrow,  in 
a  kind  of  middle  state  between  earth  and  heaven.  This 
species  of  sorrow  is  of  the  happiest  kind.  Far  be  it  from 
me  to  suppose  it  in  the  least  degree  affected.  But  1 
call  such  characters  happy  mourners;  because,  from 
the  very  frame  and  texture  of  their  constitutions,  grief 
does  not  destroy  the  energy  of  their  minds,  but  permit* 
them  to  find  consolation  in  those  things  which,  to  minds 
differently  constructed,  would  create  aversion.  They 
feel  a  heavenly  joy  in  pursuing  employments  which 


108  INFLUENCE   OF  S0UTCDE 

preserve  the  memory  of  those  who  are  the  subjects  a/ 
their  sorrow. 

Solitude  will  enable  the  heart  to  vanquish  the  most 
painful  sense  of  adversity,  provided  the  mind  will 
generously  lend  its  aid,  and  fix  its  attention  to  a  differ- 
ent object.  If  men  think  there  is  any  misfortune  from 
which  they  have  no  other  resource  than  despair  or  death 
they  deceive  themselves ;  for  despair  is  no  resource. 
Let  such  men  retire  to  their  studies,  and  there  seriously 
trace  out  a  series  of  important  and  settled  truths,  and 
their  tears  will  no  longer  fall ;  but  the  weight  of  their 
misfortunes  will  grow  light,  and  sorrow  fly  from  their 
breasts. 

Solitude,  by  encouraging  the  enjoyments  of  the  heart, 
by  promoting  domestic  felicity,  and  by  creating  a  taste 
for  rural  scenery,  subdues  impatience,  and  drives  away 
ill-humor.  Impatience  is  a  stifled  anger,  which  men  si- 
lently manifest  by  looks  and  gestures,  and  weak  minds 
ordinarily  reveal  by  a  shower  of  complaints.  A  grumbler 
is  never  further  from  his  proper  sphere  than  when  he  is 
in  company ;  solitude  is  his  only  asylum.  Ill-humor  is 
an  uneasy  and  insupportable  condition,  which  the  soul 
frequently  falls  into  when  soured  by  a  number  of  those 
petty  vexations  which  we  daily  experience  in  every  step 
of  our  progress  through  life;  but  we  need  only  to  shut 
the  door  against  improper  and  disagreeable  intrusions, 
to  avoid  this  scourge  of  happiness. 

Vexations,  indeed,  of  every  kind,  are  much  sooner 
quieted  in  the  silence  of  retirement  than  in  the  noise 
of  the  world.  A  cheerful  disposition,  a  placid  temper, 
and  well-regulated  passions,  will  prevent  worldly  vexa- 
tions from  interrupting  our  happiness.  By  these  attain 
ments,  the  deepest  melancholy,  and  most  settled  un- 
easiness of  life,  have  been  frequently  banished  from  the 
heart.  It  is  true,  that  the  progress'in  this  case  is  much 
more  rapid  in  women  than  in  men.  The  mind  of  a 
lively  female  flies  immediately  to  happiness,  while  that 
of  a  melancholy  man  still  creeps  on  with  pain :  the 
yielding  bosoms  of  the  fair  are  easily  elevated  or  de- 
pressed. These  effects,  it  is  true,  may  be  produced  by 
means  less  abstracted  than  solitude;  by  any  thing  that 
strikes  the  senses,  and  penetrates  the  heart.  Men,  on 
the  contrary,  augment  the  disease,  and  fix  it  more  firm- 
ly in  the  bosom,  by  brooding  over  its  cause  and  con- 
sequences, and  are  obliged  to  apply  the  most  efficacious 
remedies,  with  unshaken  constancy,  to  effect  a  cure ; 


tTPON   THE    HEART.  109 

for  feeble  prescriptions  are,  in  such  cases,  of  no  avail. 
The  only  chance,  indeed,  of  success,  is  by  exerting  eve- 
ry endeavor  to  place  the  body  under  the  regimen  of 
the  mind.  Vigorous  minds  frequently  banishlhe  most 
inveterate  evils,  or  form  a  powerful  shield  against  all 
the  darts  of  fate,  and.  by  braving  every  danger,  drive 
away  those  feelings  by  which  others  are  irritated  and 
destroyed ;  they  boldly  turn  'their  eyes  from  what 
things  are,  to  what  they  ought  to  be  ;  and  With  deter- 
mined resolution  support  the  bodies  they  are  designed 
to  animate;  while  weak  minds  surrender  every  thing 
committed  to  their  care. 

The  soul,  however,  alvyays  follows  what  is  most 
agreeable  to  its  ruling  passion.  Worldly  men  general- 
ly delight  in  gaming,  feasting,  and  debauchery ;  while 
those  who  are  fond  of  solitude  feel,  from  a  conscious- 
ness of  its  advantages,  no  enjoyments  equal  to  those  its 
peaceful  shades  afford. 

I  now  conclude  my  reflections  upon  the  advantages 
of  Solitude  to  the  Heart.  May  they  give  greater  cur- 
rency to  useful  sentiments,  to  consolatory  truths,  and 
contribute  in  some  degree  to  diffuse  the  enjoyment  of  a 
happiness  which  is  so  much  within  our  reach  ! 


CHAPTER  IV, 

The  General  Advantages  of  Retirement. 

RETIREMENT  engages  the  affections  of  men  whenever 
it  holds  up  a  picture  of  tranquillity  to  their  view. 

The  doleful  and  monotonous  sound  of  the  clock  of  a 
sequestered  monastery,  the  silence  of  nature  in  a  still 
night,  the  pure  air  on  the  summit  of  a  high  mountain, 
the  thick  darkness  of  an  aged  forest,  the  sight  of  a  tem- 
ple fallen  into  ruins,  inspire  the  soul  with  a  soft  melan- 
choly, and  banish  all  recollection  of  the  world  and  its 
concerns. 

The  man  who  cannot  hold  a  friendly  corresj>ondence 
With  his  own  heart ;  who  derives  no  comfort  from  the 
reflections  of  his  mind ;  who  dreads  the  idea  of  medita- 
tion, and  is  fearful  of  passing  a  single  moment  with 
himself,  looks  with  equal  dread  on  solitude  and  ort 
death.  He  endeavors  to  enjoy  all  the  voluptuousness 
which  the  world  affords ;  drains  the  pernicious  cup  w 


110  GENERAL  A0VAHTAGES. 

pleasure  to  its  dregs;  and,  until  the  dreadful  moment 
approaches  when  lie  beholds  his  nerves  shattered,  and 
all  the  powers  of  his  soul  destroyed,  has  not  the  cour- 
age to  make  the  delayed  confession.  "  I  am  tired  of  the 
world  and  all  its  idle  follies  !" 

The  legions  of  fantastic  fashions  to  which  a  man.  of 
pleasure  is  obliged  to  sacrifice  his  time,  impair  the  ra- 
tional faculties  of  his  mind,  and  destroy  the  native 
energies  of  his  soul.  Forced  continually  to  lend  himself 
to  the  performance,  of  a  thousand  little  trifles  a  thou- 
sand mean  absurdities,  he  becomes  by  habit  frivolous 
and  absurd.  The  face  of  things  no  longer  wears  its  true 
and  genuine  aspect ;  and  his  depraved  taste  loses  all  re- 
lish for  rational  entertainment  or  substantial  pleasure. 
The  infatuation  seizes  on  his  brain,  and  his  corrupted 
heart  teems  with  idle  fancies  and  vain  imaginations. 

The  inevitable  consequences  of  this  ardent  pursuit  of 
entertainments  and  diversions  are  langor  and  dissat- 
isfaction. He  has  drained  the  cup  of  pleasure  to  the 
last  drop,  who  is  at  length  obliged  to  confess  that  all 
his  hopes  are  fled  ;  who  finds  disappointment  and  dis- 
gust mingled  with  every  enjoyment ;  who  feels  astonish- 
ed at  his  own  insensibility,  and  who  no  longer  pos- 
sesses the  magic  of  the  enchantress,  imagination,  to 
gild  and  decorate  the  scene,  calls  in  vain  to  his  assis- 
tance the  daughters  of  sensuality  and  intemperance : 
their  caresses  can  no  longer  delight  his  dark  and  mel- 
ancholy mind :  the  soft  and  syren  song  of  luxury  no 
longer  can  dispel  the  cloud  of  discontent  that  hovers 
round  his  head- 
Behold  that  debilitated  weak  old  man  running  after 
pleasures  he  can  no  longer  enjoy.  The  airs  of  gayety 
which  he  affects  render  him  ridiculous  ;  his  attempts 
to  shine  expose  him  to  derision ;  his  endeavors  to  dis- 
play the  wit  and  eloquence  of  youth  betray  him  into 
the  garrulity  of  old  age.  His  conversation,  filled  with 
repetition  and  tiresome  narrative,  creates  disgust  and 
only  forces  the  smite  of  pity  from  the  lips  of  his  youth- 
fill  rivals.  To  the  eye  of  wisdom,  ho\yever,  who  ob- 
served him  through  all  the  former  periods  of  his  life 
sparkling  in  the  noisy  circles  of  extravagance  and  vice' 
his  character  always  appeared  the  same. 

The  wise  man,  in  the  midst  of  the  most  tumultuous 
pleasures,  frequently  retires  within  himself,  and  silently 
compares  what  he  might  do  with  what  he  is  doing.  Sur- 
rounded by,  and  even  when  accidentally  engaged  in,  the 


GTB  RETIREMENT.  Ill 

intoxication,  he  associates  only  with  those 
Warm  and  generous  souls  whose  highly  elevated  minds 
are  drawn  toward  each  other  by  the  most  virtuous  in- 
clinations and  sublime  sentiments.  The  silent  retreat 
of  the  mind  within  itself,  has  more  than  once  given 
birth  to  enterprizes  of  the  greatest  importance  and 
utility  ;  and  it  is  not  difficult  to  imagine,  that  some  of 
the  most  celebrated  actions  of  mankind  were  first  in- 
spired amoii"  the  sounds  of  music,  or  conceived  amidst 
the  mazes  of  the  dance.  Sensible  and  elevated  minds 
never  commune  more  closely  with  themselves  than  in 
those  places  of  public  resort  in  which  the  low  and  vul- 
gar, surrendering  themselves  to  illusion  and  caprice,  be- 
come incapable  of  reflection,  and  blindly  suffer  them- 
selves to  be  overwhelmed  by  the  surrounding  torrent 
of  folly  and  distraction. 

The  unceasing  pursuit  of  sensual  enjoyment  is  mere- 
ly a  mean  used  by  the  votaries  of  worldly  pleasure,  of 
flying  from  themselves ;  they  seize  with  avidity  upon 
any  object  that  promises  to  occupy  the  present  hour 
agreeably,  and  provide  entertainment  for  the  day  that  is 
passing  over  their  heads.  To  such  characters  the  man 
who  can  invent  hour  after  hour  new  schemes  of  pleas- 
ure and  open  day  after  day  fresh  sources  of  amuse- 
ment, is  a  valuable  companion  indeed  ;  he  is  their  best, 
their  only  friend.  Are  then  these  lazy  and  luxurious  vo- 
taries of  sensual  pleasures  destitute  of  those  abilities 
which  might  prevent  this  sacrifice  of  time,  and,  if  pro- 
perly exerted,  afford  them  relief?  Certainly  not.  But, 
baring  been  continually  led  from  object  to  object  in  the 
pursuit  of  pleasure,  the  assistance  of  others  has  habit- 
ually become  the  first  want  and  greatest  necessity  of 
their  lives :  they  have  insensibly  lost  all  power  of  ac- 
ting for  themselves,  and  depend,  for  every  object  they 
see,  for  every  sensation  they  feel,  for  every  sentiment 
they  entertain,  on  those  by  whom  they  are  attended. 
This  is  the  reason  why  the  rich,  who  are  seldom  ac- 
quainted with  any  other  pleasures  than  those  of  sense, 
are,  in  general,  the  most  miserable  of  mankind. 

The  nobility  and  courtiers  of  France  think  their  en- 
joyments appear  vain  and  ridiculous  only  to  those  who 
have  not  the  opportunity  of  partaking  in  them  ;  but  I 
am  of  a  different  opinion.  Returning  one  Sunday  from 
Trianon  to  Versailles,  I  perceived  at  a  distance  a  number 
of  people  assembled  upon  the  terrace  of  the  castle  ;  and 
oil  a  nearer  approachs  I  beheld  Louis  XV.  surrounded 


112  GENERAL  ADVANTAGES 

by  his  court,  at  the  windows  of  his  palace.  A  man 
very  richly  dressed,  with  a  large  pair  of  branching  ant- 
lers fastened  upon  his  head,  whom  they  called  the  stag-, 
was  pursued  by  about  a  dozen  others  who  composed 
the  pack.  The  pursued  and  the  pursuers  leaped  into 
the  great  canal,  scrambled  out  again,  and  ran  wildly 
round  and  round,  amidst  the  acclamations  of  the  assem- 
bly, who  loudly  clapped  their  hands  to  testify  their  de- 
light, and  to  encourage  the  diversion.  "  What  can  all 
this  mean  ?"  said  I  to  a  French  gentleman  who  stood 
near  me.  "  Sir,"  he  replied,  with  a  very  serious  coun- 
tenance, "  it  is  for  the  entertainment  of  the  court.  "  The 
most  obscure  and  indigent  individuals  may  certainly 
be  much  happier  than  these  masters  of  mankind  with 
their  melancholy  slaves  and  miserable  entertainments. 

Direful  condition  !  Is  there  then  no  occupation  what- 
soever, no  useful  employment,  no  rational  recreation 
sufficiently  high  and  dignified  for  such  characters? — 
Are  they  reduced  to  the  melancholy  condition  of  not 
being  able  to  perform  one  good  and  virtuous  action 
during  the  intervals  of  suspended  pleasure  ?  Can  they 
render  no  services  to  friendship,  to  their  country,  to 
themselves  ?  Are  there  no  poor  and  miserable  beings 
to  whose  bosom  they  might  afford  charitable  comfort 
and  relief?  Is  it,  in  short,  impossible  for  such  charac- 
ters in  any  way  to  improve  themselves  in  wisdom  or 
in  virtue  f 

The  powers  of  the  human  mind  are  of  greater  extent 
than  is  generally  imagined.  He  who,  either  from  taste 
or  necessity,  exercises  them  frequently,  soon  finds 
that  the  highest  felicities  of  which  our  nature  is  ca- 
pable, reside  entirely  within  ourselves.  The  wants  of 
life  are,  for  the  greater  part,  merely  artificial ;  and  al- 
though sensual  objects  contribute  most  efficaciously  to 
our  happiness  and  delight,  it  is  not  because  they  are 
Indispensably  necessary  for  this  purpose,  but  because 
they  have  been  rendered  desirable  by  habit ;  and,  from 
the  pleasures  they  produce,  we  flatter  ourselves  that 
they  are  absolutely  necessary  to  our  felicity.  If,  howev- 
er, we  had  fortitude  to  resist  their  charms,  and  courage 
to  seek  our  happiness  in  ourselves,  we  should  frequent- 
ly find  in  our  own  bosoms  a  greater  variety  of  resour- 
ces than  all  the  objects  of  sense  are  capable  of  afford- 
ing. 

Amusements,  indeed,  may  sometimes  be  found  in 
those  places  to  which  the  sexes  resort  merely  to  see 
and  to  be  seen.  The  eye  may  be  occasionally  gratified  by 


OP  RETIREMENT."  '  113 

the  sight  of  objects  really  agreeable ;  the  ear  may  listen 
to  observations  truly  nattering.  Lively  thoughts  and 
sensible  remarks  now  and  then  prevail.  Characters 
equally  amiable  and  interesting  occasionally  mix 
among  the  group.  We  may  form  acquaintance  with 
men  of  distinguished  merit,  whom  we  should  not  oth- 
erwise have  had  an  oportunity  of  knowing ;  and  meet 
with  women  of  amiable  qualities,  and  irreproachable 
conduct,  \yhose  refined  conversation  ravishes  the  ear 
with  a  delight  equal  to  that  with  which  their  exquisite 
beauty  captivates  the  heart.  But  by  what  a  number 
of  painful  sensations  must  the  chance  of  receiving  these 
pleasures  be  purchased  !  Those  whom  reason  or  dis- 
gust restrain  from  mixing  in  the  idle  dissipations  of 
life,  cannot  see  without  a  sigh,  the  gay  conceit,  the  airy 
confidence,  the  blind  arrogance,  and  the  bold  loquacity, 
with  which  these  votaries  of  worldly  pleasure  proclaim 
a  felicity  which  is  almost  invariably  deceitful;  nor 
oberve  without  a  sigh,  the  extravagant  joy  of  so  many 
great  men,  and  the  absurd  airs  of  so  many  gray-headed 
children. 

Honor,  fame,  and  pleasure  are  conceived  to  accom- 
pany an  invitation  to  the  board  of  luxury ;  although 
disease,  with  leaden  sceptre,  is  known  to  preside;  and 
reproach  and  calumny  are  indiscriminately  cast  upon 
the  purest  characters.  But  he  who  feels  the  least  en- 
ergy of  mind,  turns  with  aversion  from  all  society 
which  tends  to  weaken  its  effect ;  and  finds  the  sim- 
plest fare,  enjoyed  with  freedom  and  content  amidst  a 
nappy  and  affectionate  family,  ten  thousand  times 
more  agreeable  then  the  rarest  dainty,  and  the  liehest 
\yine,  with  a  society  where  he  must  sit  ceiemoniously 
silent  in  compliment  to  some  reputed  wit,  from  whose 
lips  nothing  but  absurdities  and  nonsense  proceed. 

The  spiritless  and  crowded  societies  of  the  world, 
where  a  round  of  low  and  trifling  amusements  fills  the 
nour  of  entertainment,  and  ivhere  to  display  a  pomp  of 
dress  and  levity  of  manners  is  the  only  ambition, 
may  afford  some'pleasure  to  those  light  and  empty  minds 
who  are  impatient  of  the  weight  of  idleness ;  but  the 
wise  mau,  who  occasionally  resorts  to  them  in  search 
of  rational  conversation  or  temporary  amusement,  and 
only  finds  a  dull  unvaried  jargon,  and  a  tiiesome  round 
of  complements,  will  turn  with  aversion  from  these  tem- 
ples of  false  delight,  and  exclaim,  in  the  language  of 
the  poet, 


114  GENERAL  ADVANTAGES  1 

"  I  envy  none  their  pageantry  and  show , 

I  envy  none  the  gildir.g  of  their  wo. 

Give  me,  indulgent  gods  !  with  mind  serene, 

And  guiltless  heart,  to  range  the  sylvan  scene; 

No  splendid  poverty,  no  smiling  care, 

No  well-bred  hate  or  servile  grandeur  there : 

The  pleasing  objects  useful  thoughts  suggest ; 

The  sense  is  ravish'd  and  the  soul  is  blest : 

On  every  thorn,  delightful  wisdom  glows, 

In  every  rill  a  sweet  instruction  flows." 

True  social  pleasure  is  founded  on  unlimited  confi- 
dence, on  an  affectionate  and  reciprocal  interchange  of 
sentiment  and  opinions.  A  tender,  faithful,  refined, 
and  rational  friendship,  renders  the  pleasures  of  the 
world  spiritless  and  disgusting.  How  joyfully  do  we 
disencumber  ourselves  from  the  shackles  of  society, 
for  that  close  and  sublime  intercourse  in  which  our  in- 
clinations are  free,  our  feelings  generous,  our  senti- 
ments unbiassed  ;  where  a  mutuality  of  thought  and 
action,  of  pleasure  and  of  pains  uninterruptedly~prevail ; 
where  the  gentle  hand  of  love  conducts  us  along  the 
paths  of  truth  and  virtue ;  where  every  thought  is  an- 
ticipated before  it  escapes  from  the  lips  ;  where  advice, 
consolation,  and  succor,  are  reciprocally  given  and  re- 
ceived in  all  the  accidents  and  in  all  the  misfortunes  of 
life !  The  soul,  touched  by  the  charms  of  friendship, 
springs  from  its  apathy  and  dejection,  and  views  the  en- 
livening beam  of  hope  awakening  it  to  activity.  The 
happy  pair,  casting  a  retrospective  glance  on  the  time 
passed,  mutually  exclaim  with  the  tenderest  emotions, 
"  Oh  the  delights  that  we  have  already  experienced  !-, 
Oh  the  joys  that  we  have  already  felt !"  If  the  tear  of 
affliction  steal  down  the  cheek  of  the  one,  the  other 
with  affection  wipes  it  tenderly  away.  The  sorrows  of 
one  are  felt  with  equal  sensibilityb  y  the  other :  and  what 
sorrow  will  not  an  intercourse  of  hearts  so  closely  and 
affectionately  united,  entirely  subdue  !— Day  after  day 
they  communicate  to  each  other  all  they  have  seen,  all 
they  have  heard,  all  that  they  feel,  and  every  thing  that 
they  know,  Time  flies  before  them  on  his  swiftest 
pinions.  They  are  never  tired  of  each  other's  compa- 
ny and  conversation.  The  only  misfortune  they  fear,  the 
greatest  indeed  they  can  possibly  experience,  is  the 
misfortune  of  being  separated  by  occasional  absence 
or  untimely  death. 

But  human  happiness  is  continually  exposed  to  inter- 
ruption. At  the  very  moment  alas;  when  we  vainly 
think  ourselves  the  most  secure,  fate,  by  a  sudden  blow, 


OP  RETIREMENT.  115 

strikes  its  unhappy  victim  even  in  our  arms.  All  the 
pleasure  of  life  then  seems  forever  extinguished,  every 
object  alarms  our  mind,  and  every  piace  seems  desert 
and  forlorn.  In  vain  are  our  arms  extended  to  em- 
brace our  loved,  though  lost  companion;  in  vain  do  we 
invoke  her  return.  Her  well  known  step  still  seems  to 
beat  upon  the  listening  ear,  and  promise  her  approach; 
but  suspended  sense  returns,  and  the  delusive  sounds 
are  heard  no  more.  A  death-like  silence  reigns  around, 
and  involves  us  in  the  shades  of  dreary  solitude,  un- 
conscious of  every  thing  but  our  bleeding  hearts. 
Wearied  and  dejected,  we  imagine  ourselves  no  longer 
capable  of  loving  or  of  being  beloved ;  and  life  without 
love,  to  the  heart  that  has  once  felt  its  pleasures,  is 
more  terrible  than  death.  So  sudden  a  transition  from 
the  highest  happiness  to  the  deepest  misery  overpowers 
the  mind.  No  kind  friend  appears  to  assuage  our  suf- 
ferings, or  seems  capable  of  forming  an  adequate  idea 
of  our  distress.  The  pangs,  indeed,  which  such  a  loss 
inflicts,  cannot  be  conceived,  unless  they  have  been  felt. 
The  only  consolation  of  the  unhappy  sufferer  is  to  live 
in  solitude,  and  his  only  wish  to  die  alone.  But  it  is 
under  circumstances  like  these  that  solitude  enjoys  its 
greatest  triumph,  and  the  afflicted  sufferer  receives  the 
greatest  benefits;  for  there  is  no  sorrow,  however  great, 
no  pang,  however  powerful,  that  it  will  not,  when  wise- 
ly indulged,  at  first  soften,  and  at  length  subdue.  The 
rsmedy  which  solitude  "  administers  to  a  mind  dis- 
eased," is  slow  and  gradual ;  for  the  art  of  living  alone 
requires  much  experience,  is  subject  to  so  many  casual- 
ties, and  depends  so  materially  upon  the  temperament 
of  the  patient,  that  it  is  necessary  we  should  attain  a 
complete  maturity  before  any  great  advantages  can  be 
.derived  from  it.  But  he  who  is  able  to  throw  off  the 
galling  yoke  of  prejudice,  and  possesses  a  natural  es- 
teem and  fondness  for  retirement,  will  not  be  embar^ 
rassed  as  to  the  choice  he  ought  to  make  under  such 
circumstances.  Indifferent  to  external  objects,  and 
averse  from  the  dissipations  of  the  world,  he  will  rely 
on  the  powers  of  his  mind,  and  will  never  be  less  alone 
than  when  he  is  in  the  company  of  himself. 

Men  of  genius  are  frequently  condemned  to  employ- 
ments as  disagreeable  to  the  turn  and  temper  of  their 
minds,  as  the  most  nauseous  medicine  must  be  to  an 
empty  stomach.  Confined  to  toil  on  a  dry  and  disgust- 
ing subject,  fixed  to  a  particular  spot,  and  harrassed  by 
subordinate  duties,  they  relinquish  all  expectation  of 


116  GENERAL  ADVANTAGES 

tranquillity  on  this  side  the  grave.  Deprived  of  enjoy- 
ing the  common  pleasures  of  nature,  every  object  in- 
creases their  disgust.  "  It  is  not  for  us,"  they  exclaim, 
"  that  the  youthful  zephyrs  call  forth  the  budding  fo- 
liage with  their  caressing  breath  ;  that  the  feathered 
choir  chant  in  enlivening  strains  their  rural  songs;  that 
the  verdant  meadows  are  decked  with  fragrant  flow- 
ers." But  set  these  coinplainers  free,  give  them  liberty 
and  leisure  to  think  for  themselves,  and  the  enthusiasm 
of  their  minds  will  soon  regenerate,  and  soar  into  the 
highest  regions  of  intellectual  happiness,  with  the  bold 
wing  and  penetrating  eye  of  the  bird  of  Jove.- 

If  solitude  be  capable  of  dissipating  the  afflictions  of 
persons  thus  circumstanced,  what  may  not  be  expected 
from  its  influence  on  those  who  are  enabled  to  retire, 
at  pleasure,  to  its  friendly  shades,  and  who  have  no 
other  wish  than  to  enjoy  pure  air  and  domestic  felicity ! 
When  Antisthenes  was  asked  what  advantages  philo- 
sophy had  afforded  him,  he  answered,  "  It  has  taught 
me  to  subdue  myself.''  Pope  says,  he  never  laid  his 
head  upon  his  pillow,  without  acknowledging  that  the 
most  important  lesson  of  life  is  to  learn  the  art  of  being 
happy  within  ourselves.  And  it  seems  to  me  that  we 
shall  all  find  what  Pope  looked  for,  when  home  is  our 
content,  and  every  thing  about  us,  even  to  the  dog  and 
the  cat,  partakes  of  our  affection. 

Health  is  certainly  essential  to  happiness,  and  yet 
there  are  circumstances  and  situations,  under  which 
the  privation  of  it  may  be  attended  with  tranquillity. 

How  frequently  have  I  returned  thanks  to  God,  \vhen 
indisposition  has  prevented  me  from  going  abroad,  and 
enabled  me  to  recruit  my  weakened  powers  in  solitude 
and  silence !  Obliged  to  drag  through  the  streets  of 
the  metropolis  day  after  day  during  a  number  of  years, 
feeble  in  constitution,  weak  in  limbs ;  susceptible,  on 
feeling  the  smallest  cold,  to  the  same  sensation  as  if 
knives  were  separating  the  flesh  from  the  bone;  con- 
tinually surrounded,  in  the  course  of  my  profession, 
with  the  most  afflicting  sorrows;  it  is  not  surprising 
that  I  should  thank  the  Almighty  with  tears  of  grati- 
tude, on  experiencing  even  the  relief  which  a  confine- 
ment by  indisposition  procured.  A  physician,  if  he  pos- 
sesses sensibility,  must,  in  his  anxiety  to  relieve  the  suf- 
ferings of  others,  frequently  forget  his  own.  But,  alas ! 
how  frequently  must  he  feel  all  the  horrors  of  his  situ- 
ation, when  he  is  summoned  to  attend  patients  wrhose 
maladies  are  beyond  the  reach  of  medicine !  Under 


OP  RETIREMENT.  1 17 

such  circumstances,  the  indisposition  which  excuses 
my  attendance,  and  leaves  me  the  powers  of  thought, 
affords  me  comparatively  a  sweet  repose;  and,  provi- 
ded I  am  not  disturbed  by  the  polite  interruptions  of 
ceremonious  visiters,  I  enjoy  a  pleasing  solitude.  One 
single  day  passed  undisturbed  at  home  in  literary  lei- 
sure, affords  to  the  mind  more  real  pleasure  than  all 
the  circles  of  fashionable  entertainment  are  able  to 
bestow. 

The  fear  of  being  alone  is  no  longer  felt  either  by 
the  young  or  old,  whenever  the  mind  has  acquired  the 
power  of  employing  itself  in  some  useful  or  agreeable 
study.  Ill  humor  may  be  banished  by  adopting  a  regu- 
lar course  of  reading.  Books,  indeed,  cannot  be  in- 
spected without  producing  a  beneficial  effect,  provided 
we  always  read  with  a  pen  or  pencil  in  our  hand,  and 
note  down  the  new  ideas  that  may  occur,  or  the  obser- 
vations which  confirm  the  knowledge  we  before  pos- 
sessed ;  for  reading  becomes  not  only  useless,  but  fa- 
tiguing, unless  we  apply  the  information  it  affords 
either  to  pur  own  characters,  or  to  those  of  other  men. 
This  habit,  however,  may  be  easily  acquired;  and  then 
books  become  one  of  the  most  safe  and  certain  anti- 
dotes to  lassitude  and  discontent.  By  this  means  a 
man  becomes  his  own  companion,  and  finds  his  best 
and  most  cheerful  friend  in  his  own  heart. 

Pleasures  of  this  kind  certainly  surpass  in  a  great 
degree  all  those  which  result  merely  from  the  indul- 
gence of  the  senses.  The  pleasures  of  the  mind,  gene- 
rally speaking,  signify  sublime  meditation,  the  pro- 
found deductions  of  reason,  and  the  brilliant  effusions 
of  the  imagination;  but  there  are  also  others,  for  the 
perfect  enjoyment  of  which,  neither  extensive  know- 
ledge nor  extraordinary  talents  are  necessary.  Such 
are  the  pleasures  which  result  from  active  labor: 
pleasures  equally  within  the  reach  of  the  ignorant  and 
learned,  and  not  less  exquisite  than  those  which  result 
from  the  mind.  Manual  exertions,  therefore,  ought 
never  to  be  despised.  I  am  acquainted  with  gentlemen 
who  understand  the  mechanism  of  their  watches,  who 
are  able  to  work  as  painters,  locksmiths,  carpenters, 
and  who  are  not  only  possessed  of  the  tools  and  im- 
plements of  every  trade,  but  know  how  to"  use  them. 
Such  men  never  feel  the  least  disquietude  from  the 
want  of  society,  and  are  in  general  the  happiest  cha- 
racters in  existence. 

Mental  pleasures  are  within  the  reach  of  all  persons 


I IS  GENERAL  ADVANTAGES 

who,  free,  tranquil,  and  affectionate,  are  contented 
with  themselves,  and  at  peace  with  their  fellow-crea- 
tures. The  mind  contemplates  the  pranks  of  school, 
the  sprightly  aberrations  of  our  boyish  days,  the  wan- 
ton stories  of  early  youth,  our  plays  and  pastimes,  and 
all  the  little  hopes  and  fears  of  infancy,  with  fond 
delight.  Oh!  with  what  approving  smiles  and  soft 
regret,  the  aged  cast  their  eyes  upon  those  happy  times 
when  youthful  inclination  prompted  all  their  actions, 
when  every  enterprise  was  undertaken  with  lively 
vi»or,  and  executed  with  undaunted  courage;  when 
difficulties  were  sought  merely  for  the  purpose  of 
surmounting  them !  Let  us  compare  what  we  were 
formerly  with  what  we  are  at  present;  or  rather,  by 
giving  our  thoughts  a  freer  range,  reflect  on  the 
various  events  we  have  experienced  or  observed ;  upon 
the  means  that  the  Almighty  employs  to  raise  or  sink 
the  prosperity  of  empires;  upon  the  rapid  progress 
made,  even  in  our  time,  in  every  art  and  science; 
upon  the  diffusion  of  useful  knowledge,  and  the  de- 
struction of  dangerous  prejudices;  upon  the  empire 
which  barbarism  and  superstition  have  gained,  not- 
withstanding the  exertions  of  genius  and  reason  to 
prevent  them;  upon  the  sublime  power  of  the  human 
mind  and  its  inefficient  productions ;  and  languor  will 
instantly  disappear,  and  tranquillity,  peace,  and  good 
humor  prevail. 

Thus  advantage  may  in  solitude  be  attained  and 
relished  at  every  period  of  our  lives ;  at  the  most 
advanced  age,  as  well  as  during  the  vigor  of  youth. 
He  who  to  an  unbroken  constitution  joins  a  free  and 
contented  mind,  and  assiduously  cultivates  the  powers 
of  his  understanding,  will,  if  his  heart  be  innocent,  at 
all  limes  enjoy  the  purest  and  most  unalterable  plea- 
sures. Employment  animates  all  the  functions  of  the 
soul,  and  calls  forth  their  highest  energies.  It  is  the 
secret  consciousness  which  every  person  of  a  lively 
imagination  possesses,  of  the  powers  of  the  mind,  and 
the  dignity  they  are  capable  of  attaining,  that  creates 
the  noble  anxiety  and  ardor,  which  carries  their  efforts 
to  the  sublimest  heights.  But  if,  either  by  duty  or 
situation,  we  maintain  too  close  an  interc9urse  with 
society,  if  "we  are  obliged,  in  spite  of  inclination,  to 
submit  to  frivolous  and  fatiguing  dissipations,  it  is  only 
by  quitting  the  tumult,  and  entering  into  silent  medi- 
tation, that  we  feel  that  effervescence,  that  degire  to 
break  from  bondage,  to  fly  from  past  errors,  and  avoid 
m  future  every  nowy  and  tumultuous  pleasure. 


or  RETIREMENT.  119 

The  mind  never  feels  with  more  energy  and  satisfac- 
tion that  it  lives,  that  it  is  rational,  great,  active,  free, 
and  immortal,  than  during  those  moments  in  which  it 
excludes  idle  and  impertinent  intruders. 

Of  all  the  vexations  of  life,  there  are  none  so  insup- 
portable, as  those  insipid  visits,  those  annoying  partia- 
lities, which  occupy  the  time  of  frivolous  and  fashiona- 
ble characters.  '•' My  thoughts,"  says  Rousseau,  "  will 
only  come  when  they  please,  and  not  when  I  choose:" 
and  therefore  the  intrusions  of  strangers,  or  of  mere 
acquaintances,  were  always  extremely  odious  to  him. 
Jt  was  for  this  reason  alone  that  this  extraordinary 
character,  who  seldom  experienced  an  hour  of  tran- 
quillity, felt  such  indignation  against  the  importunate 
civilities  and  empty  compliments  of  common  conversa- 
tion, whilst  he  enjoyed  the  rational  intercourse  of  sen- 
sible and  well-informed  minds  with  the  highest  delight. 
How  frequently  are  the  brightest  beams  of  intellect 
obscured  by  associating  with  low  and  little  minds! 
How  frequently  do  the  soundest  understandings  be- 
come frivolous,  by  keeping  frivolous  company  !  For, 
although  these  bright  Learns  are  immediate  emanations 
from  the  Deity  on  the  mind  of  man,  they  must  be  ma- 
tured by  meditation  and  reflection,  before  they  can 
give  elevation  to  genius,  and  consistency  to  character. 

Virtues  to  which  the  mind  cannot  rise  even  when 
assisted  by  the  most  advantageous  intercourse,  are  fre- 
quently the  fruits  of  solitude.  Deprived  for  ever  of  the 
company  and  conversation  of  those  whom  we  love  and 
esteem,  we  endeavor  to  charm  the  uneasy  void  by 
every  effort  in  our  power ;  but  while  love  and  friend- 
ship lead  us  by  the  hand,  and  cherish  us  by  their  care, 
we  lean  incessantly  on  their  bosoms,  and  remain  inert. 
Solitude,  were  it  for  this  reason  alone,  is  indispensably 
necessary  to  the  human  character :  for  when  men  are 
enabled  to  depend  on  themselves  alone,  the  soul,  tossed 
about  by  the  tempest  of  life,  acquires  new  vigor ;  learns 
to  bear  with  constancy,  or  avoid  with  address,  those 
dangerous  rocks  on  which  vulgar  minds  are  inevitably 
wrecked  ;  and  discovers  continually  new  resources,  by 
which  the  mind  resists,  with  stoic  courage,  the  rigors 
of  its  fate. 

Weak  minds  always  conceive  it  most  safe  to  adopt  the 
sentiments  of  the  multitude.  They  never  venture  to 
express  an  01  inion  upon  any  subject  until  the  majority 
have  decided  ;  and  blindly  follow  the  sentiments  of  the 
many,  whether  upon  men  or  things,  without  troubling 


120  GENERAL  ADVANTAGES 

themselves  to  inquire  who  are  right,  or  on  which  side 
truth  preponderates.  A  love  of  equity  and  truth,  indeed, 
is  seldom  found,  except  in  those  who  have  no  dread  of 
solitude.  Men  of  dissipation  never  protect  the  weak, 
or  avenge  the  oppressed.  If  the  various  and  powerful 
hosts  ofknaves  and  fools  are  your  enemies ;  if  you  have 
been  injured  in  your  property  by  injustice,  or  traduced 
in  your  fame  by  calumny,  you  must  not  fly  for  protec- 
tion and  redress  to  men  of  light  and  dissipated  charac- 
ters; for  they  are  merely  the  organs  of  error,  and  the 
conduit  pipes  of  prejudice. 

The  knowledge  of  ourselves  is  in  solitude  more  easi- 
ly and  effectually  acquired  than  in  any  other  situation  ; 
for  we  there  live  in  habits  of  the  strictest  intimacy  with 
our  own  bosoms.  It  is  certainly  possible  for  men  to  be 
deliberate  and  wise,  even  amidst  all  the  tumultuous 
folly  of  the  world,  especially  if  their  principles  be  well 
fixed  before  they  enter  on  the  stage  of  life ;  but  integri- 
ty is  undoubtedly  more  easily  preserved  in  the  innocent 
simplicity  of  solitude,  than  in  the  corrupted  intercourses 
of  society.  In  the  world  how  many  men  please  only  by 
their  vices !  How  many  profligate  villains,  and  unprin- 
cipled adventurers  of  insinuating  manners,  are  well 
received  only  bee.. use  they  have  learnt  the  art  of  ad- 
ministering to  the  Collies,  the  weaknesses,  and  the  vices 
of  others!  The  mind,  intoxicated  with  the  fumes  of 
that  incense  which  artful  flattery  is  continually  offering 
to  it,  is  rendered  incapable  of  justly  appreciating  the 
characters  of  men.  On  the  contrary,  we  truly  discover 
in  the  silence  of  solitude,  the  inward  complexion  of  the 
heart ;  and  learn  not  only  what  the  characters  of  men 
are,  but  what  in  truth  and  nature  they  ought  to  be. 

How  many  new  and  useful  discoveries  may  be  made 
by  occasionally  forcing  ourselves  from  the  vortex  of 
the  world,  and  retiring  to  the  calm  enjoyments  of  study 
and  reflection!  To  accomplish  this  end,  it  is  only  ne- 
cessary to  commence  seriously  with  our  hearts,  and  to 
examine  our  actions  with  impartiality.  The  worldly- 
minded  man,  indeed,  has  reason  to  avoid  this  self-exa- 
mination, for  the  result  would  in  all  probability  be 
painful  to  his  feelings ;  as  he  who  only  judges  of  himself 
by  the  flattering  opinions  which  others  may  have  ex- 
pressed of  his  character,  will,  in  such  a  scrutiny,  be- 
hold with  surprise  that  he  is  the  miserable  slave  of 
habit  and  public  opinion ;  submitting  himself  with  scru- 
pulous exactness,  and  the  best  possible  grace,  to  the 
tyranny  of  fashion  and  established  ceremony ;  never 


OF  RETIREMENT.  121 

venturing  to  oppose  their  influence,  however  ridiculous 
and  absurd  it  may  be  ;  and  obsequiously  following  the 
example  of  others,  without  daring  to  resist  pursuits 
which  every  one  seems  so  highly  to  approve.  He  will 
perceive,  that  almost  all  his  thoughts  and  actions  are 
engendered  by  a  base  fear  of  himself,  or  arise  from  a 
servile  complaisance  to  others ;  that  he  only  seeks  to 
flatter  the  vanities,  and  indulge  the  caprices  of  his  su- 
periors, and  becomes  the  contemptible  minister  of  these 
men,  without  daring  to  offer  them  the  smallest  contra- 
diction, or  hazard  an  opinion  that  is  likely  to  give  them 
the  least  displeasure.  Whoever,  with  calm  considera- 
tion, views  this  terrifying  picture,  will  feel,  in  the  silent 
emotions  of  his  heart,  the  necessity  of  occasionally  re- 
tiring into  solitude,  and  seeking  society  with  men  of 
nobler  sentiments  and  purer  principles. 

Let  every  one,  therefore,  who  wishes  to  think  with 
dignity,  or  live  with  ease,  seek  the  retreats  of  solitude, 
and  enter  into  a  friendly  intercourse  with  his  own  heart. 
How  small  a  portion  of  true  philosophy,  with  an  en- 
lightened understanding,  will  render  it  humble  and 
compliant !  But  in  the  mists  of  prejudice,  dazzled  by 
the  intellectual  glimmer  of  false  lights,  every  one  mis- 
takes the  true  path,  and  seeks  for  happiness  in  the 
shades  of  darkness,  and  in  the  labyrinths  of  obscurity. 
The  habits  of  retirement  and  tranquillity  can  alone 
enable  us  to  make  a  just  estimate  of  men  and  things, 
and  it  is  by  renouncing  all  the  prepossessions  which 
the  corruptions  of  society  have  implanted  in  the  mind, 
that  we  make  the  first  advances  toward  the  restoration 
of  reason,  and  the  attainment  of  felicity. 

We  have  hitherto  only  pointed  out  one  class  of  the 
general  advantages  which  may  be  derived  from  ra- 
tional solitude,  but  there  are  many  others  which  apply 
still  more  closely  to  men's  business  and  bosoms.  Who, 
alas !  is  there  that  has  not  experienced  its  comforting 
influence  in  the  keenest  adversities  of  life  1  Who  is 
there  that  does  not  seek  relief  from  its  friendly  shades 
in  the  langors  of  convalescence,  in  the  pangs  of  afflic- 
tion, and  even  in  that  distressful  moment  when  death 
deprives  us  of  those  whose  company  was  the  charm 
and  solace  of  our  lives?  Happy  are  they  who  know 
the  advantages  of  a  religious  retirement,  of  that  holy 
rest  in  which  the  virtues  rivet  themselves  more  closely 
to  the  soul,  and  in  which  every  man,  when  he  is  on 
the  bed  of  death,  devoutly  wishes  he  had  lived. 

But  these  advantages  become  more   conspicuous, 


132  GENERAL  ADVANTAGES 

when  we  compare  the  manner  of  thinking;  which  em- 
ploys the  mind  of  a  solitary  philosopher  with  that  of  a 
worldly  sensualist;  the  tiresome  tumultuous  life  of  the 
one,  with  the  ease  and  tranquillity  of  the  other;  the 
horrors  which  disturb  the  death  bed  of  vice,  with  the 
calm  sigh  which  accompanies  the  expiring  soul  of  vir- 
tue. This  is  the  awful  moment  in  which  we  feel  how 
important  it  is  to  commune  morally  with  ourselves, 
and  religiously  with  our  Creator ;  to  enable  us  to  bear 
the  sufferings  of  life  with  dignity,  and  the  pains  of 
death  with  ease. 

The  sick,  the  sorrowful,  and  the  discontented,  may 
find  equal  relief  in  solitude ;  it  administers  a  balm  to 
their  tortured  souls,  heals  the  deep  and  painful  wounds 
they  have  received,  and  in  time  restores  them  to  their 
pristine  health  and  vigor.  The  deceitful  shrine  in  which 
the  intoxication  of  sensuality  involved  health  and  happi- 
ness disappears,  and  they  behold,  in  the  place  of  imagi- 
nary joys,  those  objects  only  which  afford  real  pleasure. 
Prosperity  arrays  every  object  in  the  most  glowing  and 
delightful  colors ;  but  to  adversity  every  thing  appears 
black  and  dismal.  Nor  are  the  errors  of  these  contrary 
extremes  discovered  until  the  moment  when  the  cur- 
tain drops,  and  dissipates  the  illusion :  the  deceitful 
dream  continues  until  the  imagination  is  silenced. 
The  unhappy  then  perceive  that  the  Almighty  was 
watching  over  them,  even  when  they  conceived  them- 
selves entirely  abandoned :  the  happy  then  discover 
the  vanity  of  those  pleasures  and  amusements  to  which 
they  surrendered  themselves  so  implicitly  during  the 
intoxication  of  the  world,  and  reflect  seriously  upon 
their  misconduct ;  upon  their  present  state  and  future 
destiny;  and  upon  the  modes  most  likely  to  conduct 
them  to  true  felicity.  How  miserable  should  we  be, 
were  the  Divine  Providence  to  grant  us  every  thing  we 
desire !  At  the  very  instant  when  we  conceive  all  the 
happiness  of  our  lives  annihilated,  God,  perhaps,  is  per- 
forming something  extraordinary  in  our  favor.  Cer- 
tain it  is,  that  patience  and  perseverance  will,  in  soli- 
tude, convert  the  deej>est  sorrow  into  tranquillity  and 
.joy.  Those  objects  which,  at  a  distance,  appear  menac- 
ing, lose,  on  a  nearer  approach,  their  disagreeable  as- 
pect, and,  in  the  event,  frequently  produce  the  most 
agreeable  pleasures.  He  who  tries  every  expedient, 
who  boldly  opposes  himself  to  every  difficulty  who 
steadily  resists  every  obstacle,  who  neglects  no  exertion 
within  his  power,  and  relies  with  confidence  on  the  as 


OF  RETIREMENT.  123 

sistance  of  God,  extracts  from  affliction  both  its  poison 
and  its  sting,  and  deprives  misfortune  of  its  victory. 

Sorrow,  misfortune,  and  sickness,  soon  render  soli- 
tude easy  and  familiar  to  our  minds.  How  willingly 
do  we  renounce  the  world,  and  become  indifferent  to 
all  its  pleasures,  when  the  insidious  eloquence  of  the 
passions  is  silenced,  and  our  powers  are  debilitated  by 
vexation  or  ill  health !  It  is  then  we  perceive  the  weak- 
ness of  those  succors  which  the  world  affords.  How 
many  useful  truths,  alas !  has  the  bed  of  sickness  and 
sorrow  instilled  even  into  the  minds  of  kings  and 
princes!  truths  which,  in  the  hour  of  health,  they 
would  have  been  unable  to  learn  amidst  the  deceitful 
counsels  of  their  pretended  friends.  The  time,  indeed, 
in  which  a  valetudinarian  is  capable  of  employing  his 
powers  with  facility  and  success,  in  a  manner  confor- 
mable to  his  designs,  is  short,  and  runs  rapidly  away. 
Those  only  who  enjoy  robust  health  can  exclaim, 
"  Time  is  my  own ;"  for  he  who  labors  under  continual 
sickness  and  suffering,  and  whose  avocations  depend 
on  the  public  necessity  or  caprice,  can  never  say  that 
he  has  one  moment  to  himself.  He  must  watch  the 
fleeting  hours  as  they  pass,  and  seize  an  interval  of  lei- 
sure when  and  where  he  can.  Necessity,  as  well  as  rea- 
son, convinces  him  that  he  must,  in  spite  of  his  daily  suf- 
ferings, his  wearied  body,  or  his  harassed  mind,  firmly 
resist  his  accumulating  troubles ;  and,  if  he  would 
save  himself  from  becoming  the  victim  of  dejection, 
he  must  manfully  combat  the  difficulties  by  which  he 
is  attacked.  The  more  we  enervate  ourselves,  the 
more  we  become  the  prey  of  ill  health ;  but  determined 
courage,  and  obstinate  resistance,  frequently  renovate 
our  powers;  and  he  who,  in  the  calm  of  solitude,  vigo- 
rously wrestles  with  misfortune,  is,  in  the  event,  sure 
of  £rainin°r  the  victory. 

The  influence  of  the  mind  upon  the  body  is  a  conso- 
latory truth  to  those  who  are  subject  to  constitutional 
complaints.  Supported  by  this  reflection,  the  efforts  of 
reason  continue  unsubdued ;  the  influence  of  religion 
maintains  its  empire;  and  the  lamentable  truth,  that 
men  of  the  finest  sensibility,  and  most  cultivated  un- 
derstanding, frequently  possess  less  fortitude  under  af- 
fliction than  the  most  vulgar  of  mankind,  remains  un- 
known. Campanella,  incredible  as  it  may  seem,  suf- 
fered by  the  indulgence  of  melancholy  reflections,  a, 
species  of  mental  torture  more  painful  than  any  bodily 
torture  could  have  produced,  I  can,  however,  from 


124  GENERAL  ADVANTAGES 

my  own  experience,  assert,  that,  even  in  the  extremity 
of  distress,  every  object  which  diverts  the  attention, 
softens  the  evils  we  endure,  and  frequently  drives  them 
entirely  away.  By  diverting  the  attention,  many  cele- 
brated philosophers  have  been  able  not  only  to  preserve 
a  tranquil  mind  in  the  midst  of  the  most  poignant  suf- 
ferings, but  have  even  increased  the  strength  of  their 
intellectual  faculties,  in  spite  of  their  corporeal  pains. 
Rousseau  composed  the  greater  part  of  his  immortal 
works  under  the  continual  pressure  of  sickness  and 
sorrow.  Gellert,  who,  by  his  mild,  agreeable,  and  in- 
structive writings,  has  become  the  preceptor  of  Germa- 
ny, certainly  found,  in  this  interesting  occupation,  the 
secret  remedy  against  melancholy.  Mendelsohm,  at 
an  age  far  advanced  in  life,  and  not,  in  general,  sub- 
ject to  dejection,  was  for  a  long  time  oppressed  by  an 
almost  inconceivable  derangement  of  the  nervous  sys- 
tem ;  but,  by  submitting  with  patience  and  docility  to 
his  sufferings,  he  still  maintains  all  the  noble  and  high 
advantages  of  youth.  Garve,  who  was  for  several 
years  unable  to  read,  to  write,  or  even  to  think,  has 
since  produced  his  treatise  upon  Cicero,  in  which  this 
profound  writer,  so  circumspect  in  all  his  expressions 
that  he  appears  nurt  if  any  improper  word  escapes  his 
pen,  thanks  the  Almighty,  with  a  sort  of  rapture,  for 
the  weakness  of  his  constitution,  because  it  had  taught 
him  the  extraordinary  influence  which  the  powers  of 
the  mind  have  over  those  of  the  body. 

Solitude  is  not  merely  desirable,  but  absolutely  neces- 
sary, to  those  characters  who  possess  sensibilities  too 
quick,  and  imaginations  too  ardent,  to  live  quietly  in 
the  world,  and  who  are  incessantly  inveighing  against 
men  and  things.  Those  who  suffer  their  minds  to  be 
subdued  by  circumstances  which  would  scarcely  pro- 
duce an  emotion  in  other  bosoms ;  who  complain  of 
the  severity  of  their  misfortunes  on  pccasions  which 
others  would  not  feel ;  who  are  dispirited  by  every  oc- 
currence which  does  not  produce  immediate  satisfac- 
tion and  pleasure ;  who  are  incessantly  tormented  by 
the  illusion  of  fancy ;  who  are  unhinged  and  dejected 
the  moment  prosperity  is  out  of  their  view ;  who  repine 
at  what  they  possess,  from  an  ignorance  of  what  they 
really  want ;  whose  minds  are  for  ever  veering  from 
one  vain  wish  to  another;  who  are  alarmed  at  every 
thing,  and  enjoy  nothing ;  are  not  formed  for  society, 
and,  if  solitude  have  no  power  to  heal  their  wounded 
spirits,  are  certainly  incurable. 


OP  RETIREMENT.  125 

Men  who  in  other  respects  possess  rational  minds 
and  pious  dispositions,  frequently  fall  into  low  spirits 
and  despair ;  but  it  is  in  general  almost  entirely  their 
own  fault.  If  it  proceed,  as  is  generally  the  case,  from 
unfounded  fears ;  if  they  love  to  torment  themselves 
and  others  on  every  trivial  disappointment  or  slight  in- 
disposition ;  if  they  constantly  resort  to  medicine  for 
that  relief  which  reason  alone  can  bestow;  if  they 
fondly  indulge,  instead  of  repressing,  these  idle  fancies ; 
if,  after  having  endured  the  most  excruciating  pains 
with  patience,  and  supported  the  greatest  misfortunes 
with  fortitude,  they  neither  can  nor  will  learn  to  bear 
the  puncture  of  the  smallest  pin,  or  those  trifling  ad- 
versities to  which  human  life  is  unavoidably  subject; 
they  can  only  attribute  their  imhappy  condition  to  their 
own  misconduct ;  and,  although  they  might,  by  no 
very  irksome  effort  of  their  understandings,  look  with 
an  eye  of  composure  and  tranquillity  on  the  multiplied 
and  fatal  fires  issuing  from  the  dreadful  cannon's 
mouth,  will  continue  shamefully  subdued  by  the  idle 
apprehensions  of  being  fired  at  by  pop-guns. 

All  these  qualities  ofthe  soul,  fortitude,  firmness,  and 
stoic  inflexibility,  aro  much  sooner  acquired  by  silent 
meditation  than  amidst  the  noisy  intercourse  of  man- 
kind, where  innumerable  difficulties  continually  oppose 
us  ;  where  ceremony,  servility,  flattery,  and  fear,  con- 
taminate our  dispositions ;  where  every  occurrence 
opposes  our  endeavors  j  and  where,  for  this  reason, 
men  of  the  weakest  minds,  and  the  most  contracted 
notions,  become  more  active  and  popular,  gain  more 
attention,  and  are  better  received,  than  men  of  feeling 
hearts  and  liberal  understandings. 

The  mind,  in  short,  fortifies  itself  with  impregnable 
strength  in  the  bowers  of  solitary  retirement  against 
every  species  of  suffering  and  affliction.  The  frivolous 
attachments  which,  in  the  world,  divert  the  soul  from 
its  proper  objects,  and  drive  it  wandering,  as  chance 
may  direct,  into  an  eccentric  void,  die  away.  Content- 
ed, from  experience,  with  the  little  which  nature  re- 
quires, rejecting  every  superfluous  desire,  and  having 
acquired  a  complete  knowledge  of  ourselves,  the  visi- 
tations of  the  Almighty,  when  he  chastises  us  with  af- 
fliction, humbles  our  presumptuous  pride,  disappoints 
our  vain  conceits,  restrains  the  violence  of  our  passions, 
and  makes  us  sensible  of  our  inanity  and  weakness,  are 
received  with  composure  and  felt  without  surprise. 
How  many  important  truths  do  we  here  learn,  of  which 


126  GENERAL  ADVANTAGES 

the  worldly  minded  man  has  no  idea !  Casting  the  eye 
of  calm  reflection  on  ourselves,  and  on  the  objects 
around  us,  how  resigned  we  become  to  the  lot  of  hu- 
manity !  How  different  every  object  appears !  The 
heart  expands  to  every  noble  sentiment ;  the  bloom  of 
conscious  virtue  brightens  on  the  cheek ;  the  mind 
teems  with  sublime  conceptions ;  and,  boldly  taking 
the  right  path,  we  at  length  reach  the  bowers  of  inno- 
cence, and  the  plains  of  peace. 

On  the  death  of  a  beloved  friend,  we  constantly  feel 
a  strong  desire  to  withdraw  from  society ;  but  our 
worldly  acquaintances  unite  in  general  to  destroy  this 
laudable  inclination.  Conceiving  it  improper  to  men- 
tion the  subject  of  our  grief,  our  companions,  cold  and 
indifferent  to  the  event,  surround  us,  and  think  their 
duties  sufficiently  discharged  by  paying  the  tributary 
visit,  and  amusing  us  with  the  current  topics  of  the 
town.  Such  idle  pleasantries  cannot  convey  a  balm  of 
comfort  into  the  wounded  heart. 

When  I,  alas  !  within  two  years  after  my  arrival  in 
Germany,  lost  the  lovely  idol  of  my  heart,  the  amiable 
companion  of  my  former  days,  I  exclaimed  a  thousand 
times  to  my  surrounding  friends,  Oh !  leave  me  to  my- 
self! Her  departed  spirit  still  hovers  round  me :  the 
tender  recollection  of  her  society,  the  afflicting  remem- 
brance of  her  sufferiiiirs  on  my  account,  are  always 
present  to  my  mind.  What  mildness  and  affability ! 
Her  death  was  as  calm  and  resigned  as  her  life  was 
pure  and  virtuous.  During  five  long  months,  the  lin- 
gering pangs  of  dissolution  hung  continually  around 
her.  One  day,  as  she  reclined  upon  her  pillow,  while 
I  read  to  her  "  The  Death  of  Christ,"  by  Rammler, 
she  cast  her  eyes  over  the  page,  and  silently  pointed 
out  to  me  the  following  passage ;  "  My  breath  grows 
weak,  my  days  are  shortened,  my  heart  is  full  of  afflic- 
tion, and  my  soul  prepares  to  take  its  flight."  Alas ! 
when  I  recall  all  those  circumstances  to  my  mind,  and 
recolfect  how  impossible  it  was  for  me  to  abandon  the 
world  at  that  moment  of  anguish  and  distress,  when  I 
carried  the  seeds  of  death  within  my  bosom ;  when  I 
had  neither  fortitude  to  bear  my  afflictions,  nor  cou- 
rage to  resist  them,  while  I  was  yet  pursued  by  malice, 
and  traduced  by  calumny;  I  can  easily  conceive,  in 
such  a  situation,  that  my  exclamation  might  be,  leave 
'me  to  myself.  To  a  heart  thus  torn  by  too  rigorous  a 
destiny  from  the  bosom  that  was  opened  for  its  recep- 


OP  RETIREMENT.  127 

tion ;  from  a  bosom  in  which  it  fondly  dwelt ;  from  an 
object  that  it  dearly  loved,  detached  from  every  object, 
at  a  loss  where  to  fix  its  affections  or  communicate  its 
feelings,  solitude  alone  can  administer  comfort. 

Solitude,  when  it  has  ripened  and  preserved  the  ten- 
der and  humane  feelings  of  the  heart,  and  created  in 
the  mind  a  salutary  distrust  of  our  vain  reason  and 
boasted  abilities,  may  be  considered  to  have  brought 
us  nearer  to  God.  Humility  is  the  first  lesson  we  learn 
from  reflection,  and  self  distrust  the  first  proof  we  give 
of  having  obtained  a  knowledge  of  ourselves.  When, 
in  attending  the  duties  of  my  profession,  I  behold,  on 
the  bed  of  sickness,  the  efforts  of  the  soul  to  oppose  its 
impending  dissolution,  and  discover,  by  the  increasing 
torments  of  the  patient,  the  rapid  advances  of  death  : 
when  I  see  the  unhappy  sufferer  extend  his  cold  and 
trembling  hands  to  thank  the  Almighty  for  the  smallest 
mitigation  of  his  pains ;  when  I  hear  his  utterance 
choked  by  intermingled  groans,  and  view  the  tender 
looks,  the  silent  anguish  of  his  attending  friends;  all 
my  fortitude  abandons  me ;  my  heart  bleeds ;  and  I 
tear  myself  from  the  sorrowful  scene,  only  to  pour  my 
tears  more  freely  over  the  lamentable  lot  of  humanity,  to 
regret  the  inefficacy  of  those  medical  powers  which  I 
am  supposed  only  to  have  sought  with  so  much  anxiety 
as  a  mean  of  prolonging  my  own  miserable  existence, 

"  When  in  this  vale  of  years  I  backward  look, 
And  miss  such  numbers,  numbers  top  of  such, 
Firmer  in  health,  and  greener  in  their  age, 
And  stricter  on  their  guard,  and  fitter  far 
To  play  life's  subtle  game,  I  scarce  believe 
I  still  survive  :  and  am  I  fond  of  life 
Who  scarce  can  think  it  possible  I  live  ? 
Alive  by  miracle  !    Jf  I  am  still  alive, 
Who  long  have  buried  what  gives  life  to  live." 

The  wisdom  that  teaches  us  to  avoid  the  snares  of 
the  world,  is  not  to  be  acquired  by  the  incessant  pur- 
suit of  entertainments ;  by  flying,  without  reflection, 
from  one  party  to  another;  by  continual  conversation 
on  low  and  trifling  subjects;  by  undertaking  every 
thing  and  doing  nothing.  He  who  would  acquire 
true  wisdom,"  says  a  celebrated  philosopher,  "must 
learn  to  live  in  solitude."  An  uninterrupted  course  of 
dissipation  stifles  every  virtuous  sentiment.  The  do- 
minion of  reason  is  lost  amidst  the  intoxications  of 
pleasure ;  its  voice  is  no  longer  heard ;  its  authority  is 


128  GENERAL  ADVANTAGES 

no  longer  obeyed ;  the  mind  no  longer  strives  to  sur- 
mount temptations ;  but  instead  of  shunning  the  perils 
which  the  passions  scatter  in  our  way,  we  run  eagerly 
to  find  them.  The  idea  of  God,  and  the  precepts  of  his 
holy  religion,  are  never  so  little  remembered  as  in  the 
ordinary  intercourses  of  society.  Engaged  in  a  multi- 
plicity of  absurd  pursuits,  entranced  in  the  delirium  of 
gayety,  inflamed  by  the  continual  ebriety  which  raises 
the  passions  and  stimulates  the  desires,  every  connex- 
ion between  God  and  man  is  dissolved ;  the  bright  and 
noble  faculty  of  reason  obscured  ;  and  even  the  great 
and  important  duties  of  religion,  the  only  source  of 
true  felicity,  totally  obliterated  from  the  mind,  or  re- 
membered only  with  levity  and  indifference.  On  the 
contrary,  he  who,  entering  into  a  serious  self-examina- 
tion, elevates  his  thoughts  in  silence  toward  his  God : 
who  consults  the  theatre  of  nature,  the  spangled 
firmament  of  heaven,  the  meadows  enamelled  with 
flowers,  the  stupendous  mountains,  and  the  silent 
groves,  as  the  temples  of  the  Divinity :  who  directs  the 
emotions  of  his  heart  to  the  great  Author  and  Conduc- 
tor of  every  thing ;  who  has  his  enlightened  providence 
continually  before  his  eyes,  must,  most  assuredly,  have 
already  lived  in  pious  solitude  and  religious  retirement. 
The  pious  disposition  which  a  zealous  devotion  to 
God  engenders  in  solitude,  may,  it  is  true,  in  certain 
characters,  and  under  particular  circumstances,  dege- 
nerate into  the  gloom  of  superstition,  or  rise  into  the 
phrenzy  of  fanaticism ;  but  these  excesses  soon  abate ; 
and,  compared  with  that  fatal  supineness  which  extin- 
guishes every  virtue,  are  really  advantageous.  The 
sophistry  of  the  passions  is  silent  during  the  serious 
hours  of  self-examination,  and  the  perturbations  we 
feel  on  the  discovery  of  our  errors  and  defects,  is  con- 
verted by  the  light  of  a  pure  and  rational  faith,  into 
happy  ease  and  perfect  tranquillity.  The  fanatic  enthu- 
siast presents  himself  before  the  Almighty  much  oftener 
than  the  supercilious  wit  who  derides  an  holy  religion, 
and  calls  piety  a  weakness.  Philosophy  and  morality 
become  in  solitude  the  handmaids  of  religion,  and  join 
their  powers  to  conduct  us  into  the  bowers  of  eternal 
peace.  They  teach  us  to  examine  our  hearts,  and  ex- 
hort us  to  guard  against  the  dangers  of  fanaticism. 
But  if  virtue  cannot  be  instilled  into  the  soul  without 
convulsive  efforts,  they  also  admonish  us  not  to  be  in- 
timidated by  the  apprehension  of  danger.  It  is  not  in 
the  moment  of  joy,  when  we  turn  our  eyes  from  God 


OF  RETIREMENT.  129 

and  our  thoughts  from  eternity,  that  we  experience 
those  salutary  fervors  of  the  soul,  which  even  religion, 
with  all  her  powers,  cannot  produce  so  soon  as  a  men- 
tal affliction  or  a  corporeal  malady.  The  celebrated 
M.  Grave,  one  of  the  greatest  philosophers  of  Germa- 
ns, exclaimed  to  Dr.  Spalding  and  myself,  "  I  am  in- 
debted to  my  malady  for  having  led  me  to  make  a 
closer  scrutiny  and  more  accurate  observation  on  my 
own  character." 

In  the  last  moments  of  life,  it  is  certain  that  we  all 
wish  we  had  passed  our  days  in  greater  privacy  and 
solitude,  in  stricter  intimacy  with  ourselves,  and  in 
closer  communion  with  God.  Pressed  by  the  recol- 
lection of  our  errors,  we  then  clearly  perceive  that 
they  were  occasioned  by  not  having  shunned  the  snares 
of  the  world,  and  by  not  having  watched  with  sufficient 
care  over  the  inclinations  of  our  hearts.  Oppose  the 
sentiments  of  a  solitary  man,  who  has  passed  his  life 
in  pious  conference  with  God,  to  those  which  occupy 
a  worldly  mind,  forgetful  of  its  Creator,  and  sacrificing 
its  dearest  interests  to  the  enjoyment  of  the  moment: 
compare  the  character  of  a  wise  man,  who  reflects  in 
silence  on  the  importance  of  eternity,  with  that  of  a 
fashionable  being,  who  consumes  all  his  time  at 
ridottos,  balls,  and  assemblies ;  and  we  shall  then  per- 
ceive that  solitude,  dignified  retirement,  select  friend- 
ships, and  rational  society,  can  alone  afford  true  plea- 
sure, and  give  us  what  all  the  vain  enjoyments  of  the 
world  will  never  bestow,  consolation  in  death,  and 
hope  of  everlasting  life.  But  the  bed  of  death  discov- 
ers most  clearly  the  difference  between  the  just  man, 
who  has  quietly  passed  his  days  in  religious  contempla- 
tion, and  the  man  of  the  world,  whose  thoughts  have 
only  been  employed  to  feed  his  passions  and  gratify  his 
desires.  A  life  passed  amidst  the  tumultuous  dissipa- 
tions of  the  world,  even  when  unsullied  by  the  com- 
mission of  any  positive  crime,  con^udes,  alas!  very 
differently  from  that  which  has  been  spent  in  the  bow- 
ers of  solitude,  adorned  by  innocence,  and  rewarded  by 
virtue. 

But,  as  example  teaches  more  effectually  than  precept, 
and  curiosity  is  more  alive  to  recent  facts  than  remote 
illustrations.  I  shall  here  relate  the  history  of  a  man  of 
family  and  fashion,  who  a  fe\v  years  since  shot  himself 
in  London ;  from  which  it  will  appear,  that  men  pos- 
sessed even  of  the  best  feelings  of  the  heart,  may  be 


130  GENERAL  ADVANTAGES 

rendered  extremely  miserable,  by  suffering  their  prin- 
ciples to  be  corrupted  by  the  practice  of  the  world. 

The  honorable  Mr.  Darner,  the  eldest  son  of  Lord 
Milton,  was  five  and  thirty  years  of  age  when  he  put 
a  period  to  his  existence  by  means  perfectly  correspon- 
dent to  the  principles  in  which  he  had  lived.  He  was 
married  to  a  rich  lady,  the  daughter-in-law  of  General 
Conway.  Nature  had  endowed  him  with  extraordi- 
nary talents  5  but  a  most  infatuated  fondness  for  exces- 
sive dissipation  obscured  the  brightest  faculties  of  his 
mind,  and  perverted  many  of  the  excellent  qualities  of 
the  heart.  His  houses,  his  carriages,  his  horses,  and 
his  liveries,  surpassed  in  splendor  and  magnificence 
every  thing  sumptuous  and  costly  even  in  the  superb 
and  extravagant  metropolis  of  Great  Britain.  The 
fortune  he  possessed  was  great;  but  the  variety  of  lav- 
ish expenditures  in  which  he  engaged  exceeded  his  in- 
come, and  he  was  reduced  at  length  to  the  necessity  of 
borrowing  money.  He  raised,  in  different  ways,  near 
forty  thousand  pounds,  the  greater  part  of  which  he 
employed  with  improvident  generosity  in  relieving 
the  distresses  of  his  less  opulent  companions  j  for  his 
heart  overflowed  with  tenderness  and  compassion ;  but 
this  exquisite  sensibility,  which  was  ever  alive  to  the 
misfortunes  of  others,  was  at  length  awakened  to  his 
own  embarrassed  situation;  and  his  mind  driven  by 
the  seeming  irretrievable  condition  of  his  affairs,  to  the 
utmost  verge  of  despair.  Retiring  to  a  common  bro- 
thel, he  sent  for  four  women  of  the  town,  and  passed 
several  hours  in  their  company  with  apparent  good 
spirits  and  unencumbered  gayety;  but,  when  the 
dead  of  night  arrived,  he  requested  of  them,  with  visi- 
ble dejection,  to  retire;  and  immediately  afterward 
drawing  from  his  pocket  a  pistol,  which  he  had  carried 
about  him  the  whole  afternoon,  blew  out  his  brains.  It 
appeared  that  he  had  passed  the  evening  with  these 
women  in  the  same  manner  as  he  had  been  used  to  pass 
many  others  with  different  women  of  the  same  de- 
scription, without  demanding  favours  which  they 
would  most  willingly  have  granted,  and  only  desiring, 
in  return  for  the  money  he  lavished  on  them,  the  dis- 
sipation of  their  discourse,  or  at  most,  the  ceremony 
of  a  salute,  to  divert  the- sorrow  that  preyed  upon  his 
tortured  mind.  But  the  gratitude  he  felt  for  the  tempo- 
rary oblivion  which  these  intercourses  afforded,  some- 
times ripened  into  feelings  of  the  warmest  friendship. 
A  celebrated  actress  of  the  London  theatre,  whose  co?t- 


OP  RETIREMENT.  131 

versations  had  already  drained  him  of  considerable 
sums  of  money,  requested  of  him,  only  three  days  be 
fore  his  death,  to  send  her  five  and  twenty  guineas. 
At  that  moment  he  had  only  ten  guineas  about  him ; 
but  he  sent  her,  with  an  apology  for  his  inability  to 
comply  immediately  with  her  request,  all  he  had,  and 
soon  afterward  borrowed  the  remainder  of  the  money, 
and  sent  it  to  her  without  delay.  This  unhappy  young 
man,  shortly  before  the  fatal  catastrophe,  had  written 
to  his  father,  and  disclosed  to  him  the  distressed  situa- 
tion he  was  in  ;  and  the  very  night  on  whieh  he  termi- 
nated his  existence,  his  affectionate  parent,  the  good 
Lord  Milton,  arrived  in  London,  for  the  purpose  of  dis- 
charging all  the  debts,  and  arranging  the  affairs  of  his 
unhappy  son.  Thus  lived  and  died  this  destitute  and 
dissipated  man !  How  different  from  that  life  which 
the  innocent  live,  or  that  death  which  the  virtuous  die  f 
I  hope  I  may  be  permitted  in  this  place  to  relate  the 
story  of  a  young  lady  whose  memory  I  am  extremely 
anxious  to  preserve  ;  for  I  can  with  great  truth  say  of 
her,  as  Petrarch  said  of  his  beloved  Laura,  "the  world 
was  unacquainted  witli  the  excellence  of  her  charac- 
ter: for  she  was  only  known  to  those  whom  she  has 
left  behind  to  bewail  her  loss."  Solitude  was  all  the 
world  she  knew;  for  her  only  pleasures  were  those 
which  a  retired  and  virtuous  life  affords.  Submitting 
with  pious  resignation  to  the  dispensations  of  heaven, 
her  weak  frame  sustained,  with  steady  fortitude,  every 
affliction  of  mortality.  Mild,  good,  and  tender,  she  en- 
dured her  sufferings  without  a  murmur  or  sigh  ;  and 
although  naturally  timid  and  reserved,  disclosed  the 
feelings  of  her  soul  with  all  the  warmth  of  filial  enthu- 
siasm. Of  this  description  was  the  superior  character 
of  whom  I  now  write ;  a  character  who  convinced  meT 
by  her  fortitude  under  the  severest  misfortunes,  how 
much  strength  solitude  is  capable  of  conveying  to  the 
mind  even  of  the  feeblest  being.  Diffident  of  her  own 
powers,  she  listened  to  the  precepts  of  a  fond  parent, 
and  relied  with  perfect  confidence  on  the  goodness  of 
God.  Taught  by  my  experience,  submitting  to  my 
judgment,  she  entertained  for  me  the  most  ardent  af- 
fection ;  and  convinced  me,  not  by  professions,  but 
by  actions,  of  her  sincerity.  "Willingly  would  I 
have  sacrificed  my  life  to  have  saved  her ;  and  I  am 
satisfied  that  she  would  as  willingly  have  given 
up  her  own  for  me.  I  had  no  pleasure  but  in  pleasing 
her,  and  my  endeavors  for  that  purpose  were  most 


132  GENERAL  ADVANTAGES 

gratefully  returned.  A  rose  was  my  favorite  flower, 
and  she  presented  one  to  me  almost,  daily  during  the 
season.  I  received  it  from  her  hand  with  the  highest 
delight,  and  cherished  it  as  the  richest  treasure.  A 
malady  of  almost  a  singular  kind,  a  haemorrhage  in  the 
lungs,  suddenly  deprived  me  of  the  comfort  of  this  be- 
loved child,  and  tore  her  from  my  protecting  arms. 
From  the  knowledge  I  had  of  her  constitution,  I  im- 
mediately perceived  that  the  disorder  was  mortal. 
How  frequently  during  that  fatal  day  did  my  wounded, 
bleeding  heart,  bend  me  on  my  knees  before  God  to 
supplicate  for  her  recovery.  But  I  concealed  my  feel- 
ings from  her  observation.  Although  sensible  of  her 
danger,  she  never  discovered  the  least  apprehension 
of  its  approach.  Smiles  played  around  her  pallid 
cheeks  whenever  I  entered  or  quitted  the  room  j  and 
when  worn  down  by  the  fatal  distemper,  a  prey  to  the 
most  corroding  grief,  a  victim  to  the  sharpest  and  most 
intolerable  pains,  she  made  no  complaint;  but  mildly 
answered  all  my  questions  by  some  short  sentence, 
without  entering  into  any  detail.  Her  decay  and  impen- 
ding dissolution  became  obvious  to  the  eye ;  but  to  the 
last  moment  of  her  life,  her  countenance  preserved  a 
serenity  correspondent  to  the  purity  of  her  mind,  and 
the  affectionate  tenderness  of  her  heart.  Thus  I  be- 
held my  dear  and  only  daughter,  at  the  age  of  five  and 
twenty,  after  a  lingering  suffering  of  nine  long,  long 
months,  expire  in  my  arms.  So  long  and  so  severe  an 
attack  was  not  necessary  to  the  conquest :  she  had 
been  the  submissive  victim  of  ill  health  from  her  ear 
liest  infancy ;  her  appetite  Avas  almost  gone  when  we 
left  Swisserland :  a  residence  which  she  quitted  with 
her  usual  sweetness  of  temper,  and  without  discover- 
ing the  smallest  regret :  although  a  young  man,  as 
handsome  in  his  person  as  he  was  amiable  in  the  quali- 
ties of  his  mind,  the  object  of  herfirst,  her  only  affection, 
a  few  weeks  afterward  put  a  period  to  his  existence. 
During  the  few  happy  days  we  passed  at  Hanover, 
where  she  rendered  herself  universally  respected  and 
beloved,  she  amused  herself  by  composing  religious 
prayers,  •which  were  afterward  found  among  her  pa- 
pers, and  in  which  she  implores  death  to  afford  her  a 
speedy  relief  from  her  pains.  During  the  same  period 
she  wrote  also  many  letters,  always  affecting,  and  fre- 
quently sublime.  They  Ayere  couched  in  expressions 
of  the  same  desire  speedily  to  reunite  her  soul  with 
the  Author  of  her  days.  The  last  words  that  my  dear, 


OF  RETIREMENT.  133 

my  beloved  child  uttered,  amidst  the  most  painful  ago- 
nies, were  these — "  To-day  I  shall  taste  the  joys  of 
heaven !" 

How  unworthy  of  this  bright  example  should  we  be. 
if,  after  having  seen  the  severest  sufferings  sustained 
by  a  female  in  the  earliest  period  of  life,  and  of  the 
weakest  constitution,  we  permitted  our  minds  to  be  de- 
jected by  misfortunes  which  courage  might  enable  us 
to  surmount !  A  female  who  under  the  anguish  of  in- 
expressible torments,  never  permitted  a  sigh  or  com- 
plaint to  escape  from  her  lips,  but  submitted  with  silent 
resignation  to  the  will  of  heaven,  in  hope  of  meeting 
with  reward  hereafter.  She  was  ever  active,  invariably 
mild,  and  always  compassionate  to  the  miseries  of 
others.  But  we,  who  have  before  our  eyes  the  sublime 
instructions  which  a  character  thus  virtuous  and  noble 
has  here  given  us ;  we,  who  like  her,  aspire  to  a  seat 
in  the  mansions  of  the  blessed,  refuse  the  smallest  sa- 
crifice, make  no  endeavor  to  stem  with  courage  the 
torrent  of  adversity,  or  to  acquire  that  degree  of  pa- 
tience and  resignation,  which  a  strict  examination  of 
our  own  hearts,  and  silent  communion  with  God,  would 
certainly  afford. 

Sensible  and  unfortunate  beings !  The  slight  misfor- 
tunes by  which  you  are  now  oppressed,  and  driven  to 
despaii  (for  slight,  indeed,  they  are,  when  compared 
with  mine,)  win  ultimately  raise  your  minds  above  the 
low  considerations  of  the  world,  and  give  a  strength  to 
your  power  which  you  now  conceive  to  be  impossible. 
You  now  think  yourselves  sunk  into  the  deepest  abyss 
of  suffering  and  sorrow  ;  but  the  time  will  soon  arrive 
when  you  will  perceive  yourselves  in  that  happy  state 
in  which  the  mind  verges  from  earth  and  fixes  its  at- 
tention on  heaven.  You  will  then  enjoy  a  calm  repose, 
be  susceptible  of  pleasures  equally  substantial  and  sub- 
lime, and  possess  in  lieu  of  tumultuous  anxieties  for 
life,  the  serene  and  comfortable  hope  of  immortality. 
Blessed,  supremely  blessed,  is  he  who  knows  the  value 
of  retirement  and  tranquillity,  who  is  capable  of  enjoy- 
ing the  silence  of  the  groves,  and  all  the  pleasures  of 
rural  solitude.  The  soul  then  tastes  celestial  delight 
even  under  the  deepest  impressions  of  sorrow  and  de- 
|?ction  ;  regains  its  strength,  collects  new  courage,  and 
acts  with  perfect  freedom.  The  eye  then  looks  with 
fortitude  on  the  transient  sufferings  of  disease ;  the 
mind  no  longer  feels  the  dread  of  being  alone ;  and  we 
learn  to  cultivate,  during  the  remainder  of  our  lives,  a 
bed  of  roses  round  even  the  tomb  of  death, 
12 


1S4  ADVANTAGES  0? 

CHAPTER  V. 

Advantages  of  tolitude  in  exile. 

THE  advantages  of  solitude  are  not  confined  to  rank, 
or  fortune,  or  to  circumstances.  Fragrant  breezes, 
magnificent  forests,  richly  tinted  meadows,  and  that 
endless  variety  of  beautiful  objects  which  the  birth  of 
spring  spreads  over  the  face  of  nature,  enchant  not 
only  philosophers,  kings,  and  heroes,  but  ravish  the 
mind  of  the  meanest  spectator  with  exquisite  delight. 
An  English  author  has  very  justly  observed,  that  "  it 
is  not  necessary  that  he  who  looks  with  pleasure  on 
the  color  of  a  flower,  should  study  the  principles  of  ve- 
getation ;  or  that  the  Ptolemaic  and  Copernican  sys- 
tems should  be  compared,  before  the  light  of  the  sun 
can  gladden,  or  its  warmth  invigorate.  Novelty  in 
itself  is  a  source  of  gratification ;  and  Milton  justly 
observes,  that  to  him  who  has  been  long  pent  up  in 
cities,  no  rural  object  can  be  presented  which  will  not 
delight  or  refresh  some  of  his  senses." 

Exiles  themselves  frequently  experience  the  advan- 
tages and  enjoyments  of  solitude.  Instead  of  the 
world  from  which  they  are  banished,  they  form,  in  the 
tranquillity  of  retirement,  a  new  world  for  themselves  j 
forget  the  false  joys  and  fictitious  pleasures  which  they 
followed  in  the  zenith  of  greatness,  habituate  their 
minds  to  others  of  a  nobler  kind,  more  worthy  the 
attention  of  rational  beings;  and  to  pass  their  days 
with  tranquillity,  invent  a  variety  of  innocent  feli- 
cities, which  are  only  thought  of  at  a  distance  from  so- 
ciety, far  removed  from  all  consolation,  far  from  their 
country,  their  famines,  and  their  friends. 

But  exiles,  if  they  wish  to  insure  happiness  in  retire- 
ment, must,  like  other  men,  fix  their  minds  upon  some 
one  object,  and  adopt  the  pursuit  of  it  in  such  a  way  as 
to  revive  their  buried  hopes,  or  to  excite  the  prospect 
of  approaching  pleasure. 

Maurice,  prince  of  Isenbourg,  distinguished  himself 
by  his  courage  during  a  service  of  twenty  years  under 
Ferdinand,  duke  of  Brunswick,  and  Marshal  Broglio, 
and  in  the  war  between  the  Russians  and  the  Turks. 
Health  and  repose  were  sacrificed  to  the  gratification 
of  his  ambition  and  love  of  glory.  During  his  service 
in  the  Russian  army,  he  fell  under  the  displeasure  of 
the  empress,  and  was  sent  into  exile.  The  calamitous 


SOLITUDE  IN  EXILE.  135 

Condition  to  which  persons  exiled  by  this  government 
are  reduced  is  well  known;  but  this  philosophic  prince 
contrived  to  render  even  a  Russian  banishment  agree- 
able. While  oppressed  both  in  body  and  mind  by  the  pain- 
ful reflections  which  his  situation  at  first  created,  and 
reduced  by  his  anxieties  to  a  mere  skeleton,  he  acci- 
dentally met  with  the  little  essay  written  by  Lord  Bo- 
lingbroke  on  the  subject  of  Exile.  He  read  it  several 
times,  and,  "  in  proportion  to  the  number  of  times  I 
read,"  said  the  prince,  in  the  preface  to  the  elegant  and 
nervous  translation  he  made  of  this  work,  "I  felt  all 
my  sorrows  and  disquietudes  vanish." 

This  essay  by  Lord  Bolingbroke  upon  exile,  is  a  mas- 
terpiece of  stoic  philosophy  and  fine  writing.  He  there 
boldly  examines  all  the  adversities  of  life.  "  Let  us," 
says  he,  "  set  all  our  past  and  present  afflictions  at  once 
before  our  eyes :  let  us  resolve  to  overcome  them  in- 
stead of  flying  from  them,  or  wearing  out  the  sense  of 
them  with  long  and  ignominious  patience.  Instead  of 
palliating  remedies,  let  us  use  the  incision  knife  and 
the  caustic,  search  the  wound  to  the  bottom,  and  work 
an  immediate  and  radical  cure."  fc 

Perpetual  banishment,  like  uninterrupted  solitude, 
certainly  strengthens  the  powers  of  the  mind,  and  ena- 
bles the  sufferer  to  collect  sufficient  force  to  support  his 
misfortunes.  Solitude,  indeed,  becomes  an  easy  situa- 
tion to  those  exiles  who  are  inclined  to  indulge  the 
pleasing  sympathies  of  the  heart ;  for  they  then  expe- 
rience pleasures  that  were  before  unknown,  and  from 
that  moment  forget  those  the/  tasted  in  the  more  flour- 
ish ing  and  prosperous  conditions  of  life. 

Brutus,  when  he  visited  the  banished  Marcellus  in  his 
retreat  at  Mitylene,  found  him  enjoying  the  highest  fe- 
licities of  which  human  nature  is  susceptible,  and  de- 
voting his  time,  as  before  his  banishment,  to  the  study 
of  every  useful  science  Deeply  impressed  by  the  ex- 
ample this  unexpected  scene  afforded,  he  fell,  on  his  re- 
turn, that  it  was  Brutus  who  was  exiled,  and  not  Mar- 
cellus whom  he  left  behind.  Quintus  Metellus  Numi- 
dicus  had  experienced  the  like  fate  a  few  years  before. 
While  the  Rornan  people,  under  the  guidance  pf  Marias 
were  laying  the  foundation  of  that  tyranny  which  Cesar 
afterward  completed,  Metellus,  singly,  in  the  midst 
of  an  alarmed  senate,  and  surrounded  by  an  en- 
raged populace,  refused  to  take  the  oath  imposed  by 
the  pernicious  laws  of  the  tribune  Saturnius ;  and  his 
intrepid  conduct  was  converted,  by  the  voice  of  fa,cr- 


130  ADVANTAGES  OP 

tion,  into  a  high  crime  against  the  state;  for  which  he 
was  dragged  from  his  senatorial  seat  by  the  licentious 
rabble,  exix>sed  to  the  indignity  of  a  public  impeach- 
ment, and  sentenced  to  perpetual  exile.  The  more 
virtuous  citizens,  however,  took  arms  in  his  defence, 
and  generously  resolved  rather  to  perish  than  behold 
their  country  unjustly  deprived  of  so  much  merit :  but 
this  magnanimous  Roman,  whom  no  persuasion  could 
induce  to  do  wrong,  declined  to  increase  the  confusion 
of  the  commonwealth  by  encouraging  resistance,  con- 
ceiving it  a  duty  he  owed  to  the  laws,  not  to  suffer  any 
sedition  to  take  place  on  his  account.  Contenting  him- 
self with  protesting  his  innocence,  and  sincerely  la- 
menting the  public  phrenzy,  he  exclaimed,  as  Plato 
had  done  before  during  the  distractions  of  the  Athe- 
nian commonwealth,  "If  the  times  should  mend,  J 
shall  recover  my  station  ;  if  not,  it  is  a  happiness  to  be 
absent  from  Rome ;"  and  departed  without  regret  into 
exile,  fully  cpnvinced  of  its  advantages  to  a  mind  inca- 
pable of  finding  repose  except  on  foreign  shores,  and 
which  at  Rome  must  have  been  incessantly  tortured 
by  the  hourly  sigh^  of  a  sickly  state  and  an  expiring 
republic. 

Rutilius  also,  feeling  the  same  contempt  for  the  sen- 
timents and  manners  of  the  age,  voluntarily  withdrew 
himself  from  the  corrupted  metropolis  of  the  republic. 
Asia  had  been  defended  by  his  integrity  and  courage 
against  the  ruinous  and  oppressive  extortion  of  the 
publicans.  These  noble  and  spirited  exertions,  which 
ne  was  prompted  to  make  not  only  from  his  high  sense 
of  justice,  but  in  the  honourable  discharge  of  the  par- 
ticular duties  of  his  office,  drew  on  him  the  indigna- 
tion of  the  equestrian  order,  and  excited  the  animosity 
of  the  faction  which  supported  the  interests  of  Marius. 
They  induced  the  viie  and  infamous  Apiciusto  become 
the  instrument  of  his  destruction.  He  was  accused  of 
corruption ;  and  as  the  authors  and  abettors  of  this  false 
accusation  sat  as  judges  on  his  trial,  Rutilius,  the  most 
innocent  and  virtuous  citizen  of  the  i'epublic,  was  of 
course  condemned  •  for,  indeed,  he  scarcely  conde- 
scended *o  defend  the  cause.  Seeking  an  asylum  in 
the  east,  this  trul>  respectable  Roman,  whose  merits 
ivere  not  only  overlooked,  but  traduced,  by  his  un- 
grateful country,  was  every  where  received  with  pro- 
found veneration  and  unqualified  applause.  He  had 
however,  before  the  term  of  his  exile  expired,  an  op- 
portunity of  exhibiting  the  just  contempt  he  felt  fox 


SOLITUDE    IN  EXILE.  137 

the  treatment  he  had  received ;  for  when  Sylla  earnest- 
ly solicited  him  to  return  to  Rome,  he  not  only  refused 
to  comply  with  his  request,  but  removed  his  residence 
to  a  greater  distance  from  his  infatuated  country. 

Cicero,  however,  who  possessed  in  an  eminent  de- 
gree all  the  resources  and  sentiments  which  are  neces- 
sary to  render  solitude  pleasant  and  advantageous,  is  a 
memorable  exception  to  these  instances  of  nappy  and 
contented  exiles.  This  eloquent  patriot,  who  had  been 
publicly  proclaimed,  " the  saviour  of  his  country" 
who  had  pursued  his  measures  with  undaunted  perseve- 
rance, in  defiance  of  the  open  menaces  of  a  desperate  fac- 
tion, and  the  concealed  daggers  of  hired  assassins,  sunk 
into  dejection  and  dismay  under  a  sentence  of  exile.  The 
strength  of  his  constitution  had  long  been  impaired  by 
incessant  anxiety  and  fatigue :  and  the  terrors  of  ban- 
jshment  so  oppressed  his  mind,  that  he  lost  all  his  pow- 
ers, and  became,  from  the  deep  melancholy  into  which 
it  plunged  him,  totally  incapable  of  adopting  just  sen- 
timents, or  pursuing  spirited  measures.  By  this  weak 
and  unmanly  conduct  he  disgraced  an  event  by  which 
Providence  intended  to  render  his  glory  complete. 
Undetermined  where  to  go,  or  what  to  do,  he  lamented, 
with  effeminate  sighs  and  childish  tears,  that  he  could 
now  no  longer  enjoy  the  luxuries  of  his  fortune,  the 
splendor  of  his  rank,  or  the  charnis  of  his  popularity. 
Weeping  over  the  ruins  of  his  magnificent  mansion, 
which  Clodius  levelled  with  the  ground,  and  groaning 
for  the  absence  of  his  wife,  Terehtia,  whom  he  soon 
afterward  repudiated,  he  suffered  the  deepest  melan=- 
choly  to  seize  upon  his  mind:  became  a  pr^y  to  the 
most  inveterate  grief;  complained  with  bitter  anguish 
of  wants,  which,  if  supplied,  would  have  afforded  him 
no  enjoyment:  and  acted,  in  short,  so  ridiculously,  that 
both  his  friends  and  his  enemies  concluded  that  adver- 
sity had  deranged  his  mind.  Cesar  beheld  with  se- 
cret and  malignant  pleasure,  the  man  who  had  refused 
to  act  as  his  lieutenant,  suffering  under  the  scourge  of 
Clodius.  Pompey  hoped  that  all  sense  of  his  ingrati- 
tude would  be  effaced  by  the  contempt  and  derision  to 
which  a  benefactor,  whom  he  had  shamefully  aban- 
doned, thus  meanly  exposed  his  character.  Atticus 
himself,  whose  mind  was  bent  on  magnificence  and 
money,  and  who,  by  his  temporizing  talents,  endeavor- 
ed to  preserve  the  friendship  of  all  parties,  without  en- 
Jistiug  iii  any,  blushed  for  the  unmanly  conduct  of  Ci- 
cero j  and  in  the  censorial  style  of  Cato,  instead  of  his 


138  ADVANTAGES  OF  SOLITUDE 

own  plausible  dialect,  severely  reproached  him  for  con 
tinuing  so  meanly  attached  to  his  former  fortune*. 
Solitude  had  no  influence  over  a  mind  so  weak  and  de- 
pressed as  to  turn  the  worst  side  of  every  subject  to  its 
view.  He  died,  however,  with  greater  heroism  than 
he  lived;  " approach,  old  soldier T"  cried  he,  from  his 
litter,  to  Popilius  Lcenas,  his  former  client  and  present 
murderer,  "and,  if  you  have  the  courage,  take  my 
life." 

"  These  instances,"  says  Lord  Bolingbroke,  "  show 
that  as  change  of  place,  simply  considered,  can  render 
no  man  unhappy ;  so  the  other  evils  which  are  objected 
to  exile,  either  cannot  happen  to  wise  and  virtuous 
men,  or,  if  they  do  happen  to  them,  cannot  render 
them  miserable.  Stones  are  hard,  and  cakes  of  ice  are 
cold,  and  all  who  feel  them  feel  alike ;  but  the  good  or 
the  bad  events  which  fortune  brings  upon  us.  lire  felt 
according  to  the  qualities  that  we,  not  they,  possess. 
They  are  in  themselves  indifferent  and  common  acci- 
dents, and  they  acquire  strength  by  nothing  but  our 
vice  or  our  weakness.  Fortune  can  dispense  neither 
felicity  nor  infelicity,  unless  we  co-operate  with  her. 
Few  men  who  are  unhappy  under  the  loss  of  an  estate, 
would  be  happy  in  the  possession  of  it ;  and  those  who 
deserve  to  enjoy  the  advantages  which  exile  takes 
away,  will  not  be  unhappy  when  they  are  deprived  of 
them." 

An  exile,  however,  cannot  hope  to  see  his  days  glide 
quietly  away  in  rural  delights  and  philosophic  repose, 
except  he  has  conscientiously  discharged  those  duties 
which  he  owed  to  the  world,  and  given  that  example 
of  rectitude  to  future  ages  which  every  character  ex- 
hibits vvho  is  as  great  after  his  fall  as  he  was  at  the 
most  brilliant  period  of  his  prosperity. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Advantages  of  solitude  in  old  age  ;  and  on  the  bed  of  death. 

THE  decline  of  life,  and  particularly  the  condition 
of  old  age,  derive  from  solitude  the  purest  sources  of 
uninterrupted  enjoyment.  Old  age  when  considered 
as  a  period  of  comparative  quietude  and  repose,  as  a 
serious  and  contemplative  interval  betweeen  a  transi- 
tory existence  and  an  approaching  immortality,  is,  per- 


IN  OLD  AGE.  139 

haps,  the  most  agreeable  condition  of  human  life:  a 
condition  to  which  solitude  affords  a  secure  harbor 
against  those  shattering  tempests  to  which  the  frail 
bark  of  man  is  continually  exposed  in  the  short  but 
dangerous  voyage  of  the  world ;  a  harbor  from  whence 
he  may  securely  view  the  rocks  and  quicksands  which 
threatened  his  destruction,  and  which  he  has  happily 
escaped. 

Men  are  by  nature  disposed  to  investigate  the  various 
properties  of  distant  objects  before  they  think  of  con- 
templating their  own  characters ;  like  modern  travel- 
lers who  visit  foreign  countries  before  they  are  ac- 
quainted with  their  own.  But  prudence  will  exhort 
the  young,  and  experience  teach  the  aged,  to  conduct 
themselves  on  very  different  principles ;  and  both  the 
one  and  the  other  will  find  that  solitude  and  self-ex- 
amination are  the  beginning  and  the  end  of  true  wis- 
dom. 

Oh !  lost  to  virtue,  lost  to  manly  thought, 
Lost  to  the  noble  sallies  of  the  soul  ! 
Who  think  in  solitude  to  be  alone. 
Communion  sweet ;  communion  large  and  high. 
Our  reason,  guardian  angel,  and  our  God  : 
The  nearest  these  when  others  moat  remote ; 
And  all,  ere  long,  shall  be  remote  but  these. 

The  levity  of  youth,  by  this  communion  large  and 
high,  will  be  repressed,  and  the  depression  which  some- 
times accompanies  old  age  entirely  removed.  An  un- 
ceasing succession  of  gay  hopes,  fond  desires,  ardent 
wishes,  high  delights,  and  unfounded  fancies,  form 
the  character  of  our  early  years;  but  those  which 
follow  are  marked  with  melancholy  and  increa- 
sing sorrows.  A  mind,  however  that  is  invigo- 
rated by  observation  and  experience,  remains  daunt- 
less and  unmoved,  amidst  both  the  prosperities 
and  adversities  of  life.  He  who  is  no  longer  forced  to 
exert  his  powers,  and  who  at  an  early  period  of  his 
life  has  well  studied  the  manners  of  men,  will  com- 
plain very  little  of  the  ingratitude  with  which  his 
favors  and  anxieties  have  been  requited.  All.he  asks 
is,  that  the  world  will  let  him  alone:  and  having  a 
thorough  knowledge  not  only  of  his  own  character, 
but  of  mankind,  he  is  enabled  to  enjoy  the  comforts  of 
repose. 

It  is  finely  remarked  by  a  celebrated  German,  thai 
there  are  political  as  well  as  religious  Carthusians,  and 


140  ADVANTAGES  OT  SCUTCDE 

that  both  orders  are  sometimes  cormjpsed  of  most  ex- 
cellent and  pious  characters.  "It  is,"  says  this  admi- 
rable writer,  "  in  the  deepest  and  most  .sequestered  re- 
cesses of  forests  that  we  meet  with  the  peaceful  sage, 
the  calm  observer,  the  friend  of  truth,  and  the  lover  of 
his  country,  who  renders  himself  beloved  by  his  wis- 
dom, revered  for  his  knowledge,  respected  for  his  vera- 
city, and  adored  for  his  benevolence ;  whose  confi- 
dence and  friendship  every  one  is  anxious  to  gain; 
and  who  excites  admiration  by  the  eloquence  of  his 
conversation,  and  esteem  by  the  virtue  of  his  ac- 
tions, while  he  raises  wonder  by  the  obscurity  of  his 
name,  and  the  mode  of  his  existence.  The  giddy  mul- 
titude solicit  him  to  relinquish  Ins  solitude,  and  seat 
himself  on  the  throne:  but  they  perceive  inscribed  on 
his  forehead,  beaming  with  sacred  fire,  o-li  prqfamun 
Tiilgus  et  arceo ;  and  instead  of  being  his  seducers, 
become  his  disciples."  But,  alas!  this  extraordinary 
character,  whom  1  saw  some  years  ago  in  Weteravia, 
who  inspired  me  with  filial  reverence  and  affection, 
and  whose  animated  countenance  announced  the  supe- 
rior wisdom  and  happy  tranquillity  of  his  mind,  is  now 
no  more.  There  did  not  i«rhaps  at  that  time  exist  in 
any  court  a  more  profound  statesman :  he  was  intimate- 
ly acquainted  with  all,  and  corresponded  personally 
with  some  of  the  mast  celebrated  sovereigns  of  Europe. 
I  never  met  with  .an  observer  who  penetrated  with 
such  quick  and  accurate  sagacity  into  the  minds  and 
characters  of  men,  who  formed  such  true  opinions  of 
the  world,  or  criticised  with  such  discerning  accuracy 
the  actions  of  those  who  were  playing  important  parts 
on  its  various  theatres.  There  never  was  a  mind  more 
free,  more  enlarged,  more  powerful,  or  more  engaging; 
or  an  eye  more  lively  and  inquisitive.  He  was  the  man, 
of  all  others,  in  whose  company  I  could  have  lived  with 
the  highest  pleasure,  and  died  with  the  -rreatest  comfort. 
The  rural  habitation  in  which  he  lived,  was  simple  in 
its  structure,  and  modest  in  its  attire;  the  surrounding 
grounds  and  gardens  laid  out  in  the  happy  simplicity 
of  nature ;  and  his  fare  healthy  and  frugal.  I  never 
felt  a  charm  more  powerful  than  that  which  filled  my 
bosom  while  I  contemplated  the  happy  solitude  of  the 
venerable  Baron  de  Schautenbach  at  Weteravia. 

Rousseau,  feeling  his  end  approach,  also  passed  the 
few  remaining  years  of  an  uneasy  life  in  solitude.  It 
was  during  old  age  that  he  composed  the  best  and 
greater  part  of  his~admirable  works ;  but,  although  he 


TO  ou>  AGE.  141 

employed  his  time  with  judicious  activity,  his  feelings 
had  been  too  deeply  wounded  by  the  persecutions  of 
the  world,  to  enable  him  to  find  complete  tranquillity  in 
the  bowers  of  retirement.  Unhappily  he  continued  ig- 
norant of  the  danger  of  his  situation,  until  the  vexa- 
tions of  his  mind,  the  disorders  of  his  body,  and  his 
unpardonable  neglect  of  health,  had  rendered  his  re- 
covery impossible.  It  was  not  until  he  had  been  many 
years  tormented  by  physicians,  and  racked  by  a  painful 
malady,  that  he  took  up  his  pen ;  and  his  years  increa- 
sed only  to  increase  the  visible  effect  of  his  mental  and 
corporeal  afflictions,  which  at  length  became  so  acute, 
that  he  frequently  raved  wildly  or  fainted  away  under 
the  excess  of  his  pains. 

It  is  observed  by  one  of  our  refined  critics,  that  "  all 
Rousseau  wrote  during  his  old  age  is  the  effect  of  mad- 
ness." "Yes,"  replied  his  fair  friend,  with  greater 
truth,  "but  he  raved  so  pleasantly,  that  we  are  delight- 
ed to  run  mad  with  him." 

The  mind  becomes  more  disposed  to  seek  its  "guar- 
dian angel  and  its  God,"  the  nearer  it  approaches  the 
confines  of  mortality.  When  the  ardent  fire  of  youth 
is  extinguished,  and  the  meridian  heat  of  life's  short 
day  subsides  into  the  soft  tranquillity  and  refreshing 
quietude  of  its  evening,  we  feel  the  important  necessi- 
ty of  devoting  some  few  hours  to  pious  meditation  be- 
fore we  close  our  eyes  in  endless  night;  and  the  very 
idea  of  being  able  to  possess  this  interval  of  holy  lei- 
sure, and  to  hold  this  sacred  communion  with  God,  re- 
creates the  mind,  like  the  approach  of  spring  after  a 
dull,  a  dreary,  and  a  distressing  winter. 

Petrarch  scarcely  perceived  the  approaches  of  old 
age.  By  constant  activity  he  contrived  to  render  re- 
tirement always  happy,  and  year  after  year  rolled  un- 
perceived  away  in  pleasures  and  tranquillity.  Seated 
in  a  verdant  arbor  in  the  vicinity  of  a  Carthusian  mo- 


iny  pace  in  proportion  as  I  approach  the  end  of  my 
journey,  I  pass  my  days  and  nights  in  reading  and 
writing;  these  agreeable  occupations  alternately  re- 
lieve each  other,  and  are  the  only  sources  from  whence 
I  derive  my  pleasures.  I  lie  awake  and  think,  and  di- 
vert my  mind  by  every  means  in  my  power ;  and  my 
ardor  increases  as  new  difficulties  arise.  Novelties  in- 
cite, and  obstacles  sharpen,  my  resistance,  The  labor* 


142  ADVANTAGES  OF  SOLITUDE 

I  endure  are  certain,  for  my  hand  is  tired  of  holding: 
my  pen :  but  whether  I  shall  reap  the  harvest  of  my 
toils  I  cannot  tell.  I  am  anxious  to  transmit  my  name 
to  posterity :  but  if  I  am  disappointed  in  this  wish  I  am 
satisfied  the  age  in  which  I  live,  or  at  least  my  friends, 
will  know  me,  and  this  fame  will  satisfy  me.  My 
health  is  so  good,  my  constitution  so  robust,  and  my 
temperament  so  warm,  that  neither  the  advance  of  years 
nor  the  most  serious  occupation,  have  power  to  con- 
quer the  rebellious  enemy  by  which  I  am  incessantly 
attacked.  I  should  certainly  become  its  victim,  as  I  have 
frequently  been,  if  Providence  did  not  protect  me.  On 
the  approach  of  spring,  I  take  up  arms  against  the  flesh, 
and  am  even  at  this  moment  struggling  for  my  liberty 
against  this  dangerous  enemy." 

A  rural  retreat,  however  lonely  or  obscure,  contri- 
butes to  increase  the  fame  of  those  great  and  noble 
characters  who  relinquish  the  world  at  an  advanced 
period  of  their  lives,  and  pass  the  remainder  of  their 
days  in  solitude :  their  lustre  beams  from  their  retire- 
ment with  brighter  rays  than  those  which  shone 
around  them  in  their  earliest  days,  and  on  the  theatre  or 
their  glory,  "  It  is  in  solitude,  in  exile,  and  on  the 
bed  ofdeath,"  says  Pope,  "  that  the  noblest  characters 
of  antiquity  shone  with  the  greatest  splendor;  it  was 
then  they  performed  the  greatest  services ;  for  it  was 
during  those  periods  that  they  became  useful  examples." 
And  Rousseau  appears  to  have  entertained  the  same 
opinion:  "  It  is  noble,"  says  he,  "to  exhibit  to  the  eyes 
of  men  an  example  of  the  life  they  ought  to  lead.  The 
man  who,  when  age  or  ill  health  has  deprived  him  of 
activity,  dares  to  resound  from  his  retreat  the  voice  of 
truth,  and  to  announce  to  mankind  the  folly  of  those 
opinions  which  render  them  miserable,  is  a  public  be- 
nefactor. I  should  be  of  much  less  use  to  my  country- 
men, were  I  to  live  among  them,  than  I  can  possibly  be 
in  my  retreat.  Of  what  importance  can  it  be,  whether 
I  live  in  one  place  or  in  another,  provided  I  discharge 
my  duties  properly?" 

A  certain  young  lady  of  Germany,  however,  was  of 
opinion  that  Rousseau  was  not  entitled  to  praise.  She 
maintained  that  he  was  a  dangerous  corrupter  of  the 
youthful  mind,  and  that  he  had  very  improperly  dis- 
charged his  duties,  by  discovering  in  his  Confessions 
the  moral  defects  and  vicious  inclinations  of  his  heart. 
"  Such  a  work  written  by  a  man  of  virtue,"  said  she, 
w  would  render  him  an  object  of  abhorrence : 


IN  OLD   AGE.  143 

fceaii,  whose  writings  are  circulated  to  captivate  the 
wicked,  proves,  by  his  story  of  the  Ruban  Vole,  that  he 
possesses  a  heart  of  the  blackest  dye.  It  is  evident, 
from  many  passages  in  that  publication,  that  it  was 
vanity  alone  which  guided  his  pen ;  and  from  .many 
others,  that  he  felt  himself  conscious  he  was  disclosing 
falsehoods.  There  is  nothing,  in  short,  throughout 
the  work  that  bears  the  stamp  of  truth ;  and  all  it  in- 
forms us  of  is,  that  Madame  de  Warens  was  the  origi- 
nal from  which  he  drew  the  character  of  Julia.  These 
unjustly  celebrated  Confessions  contain,  generally 
speaking,  a  great  many  fine  words,  and  but  very  few 
good  thoughts.  If,  instead  of  rejecting  every  opportu- 
nity of  advancing  himself  in  life,  he  had  engaged  in 
some  industrious  profession,  he  might  have  been  more 
useful  to  the  world  than  he  has  been  by  the  publication 
of  his  dangerous  writings." 

This  incomparable  criticism  upon  Rousseau  merits 
preservation:  for,  in  my  opinion^  it  is  the  only  one  of 
its  kind.  The  Confessions  of  Rousseau  is  a  work 
certainly  not  proper  for  the  eye  of  youth  ;  but  to  me  it 
appears  one  of  the  most  remarkable  philosophic  publi- 
cations that  the  present  age  has  produced.  The  fine 
style  and  enchanting  colors  in  which  it  is  written  are 
its  least  merits.  The  most  distant  posterity  will  read 
it  with  rapture,  without  inquiring  what  age  the  vene- 
rable author  had  attained  when  he  gave  to  the  world 
this  last  proof  of  his  sincerity; 

Age,  however  advanced,  is  capable  of  enjoying  real 
pleasure.  A  virtuous  old  man  passes  his  days  with 
serene  gayety,  and  receives,  in  the  happiness  he  feels 
from  the  benedictions  of  all  around  him,  a  rich  re\vard 
for  the  rectitude  and  integrity  of  his  past  life;  for  the 
mind  reviews  with  joyful  satisfaction  its  honorable  and 
self-approving  transactions :  nor  does  the  near  prospect 
of  the  tomb  give  fearful  emotion  to  his  undismayed 
and  steady  soul. 

The  empress  Maria  Theresa  has  caused  her  own 
mausoleum  to  be  erected,  and  frequently,  accompanied 
by  her  family,  visits  with  serenity  and  composure,  a 
monumental  depository,  the  idea  of  which  conveys 
such  painful  apprehension  to  almost  every  mind. 
Pointing  it  out  to  the  observation  of  her  children, 
*'  Ought  we  to  be  proud  or  arrogant,"  says  she,  "  when 
we  here  behold  the  tomb  in  which,  after  a  few  years', 
the  poor  remains  of  royalty  must  quietly  repose?" 

There  are  few  men  capable  of  thinking  with,  so 


144  ADVANTAGES  OF 

much  sublimity.  Every  one,  however,  is  capable  of 
retiring^  at.  least  occasionally,  from  the  corruptions  of 
the  world ;  and  if,  during  this  calm  retreat,  they  shall 
happily  learn  to  estimate  their  past  days  with  propriety, 
and  to  live  the  remainder  in  private  virtue  and  public 
utility,  the  tomb  will  lose  its  menacing  aspect,  and 
death  appear  like  the  calm  evening  of  a  fine  and  well 
spent  day. 

"  Blest  be  that  hand  divine,  which  gently  laid 
My  heart  at  real  beneath  this  humble  shed. 
The  world's  a  stately  bark  on  dang'rous  seas, 
With  pleasure  se«n,  but  boarded  at  our  peril ; 
Here,  on  a  single  plank,  thrown  safe  ashore, 
I  hear  the  tumult  of  the  distant  throng, 
As  that  of  seas  remote,  or  dying  storms ; 
And  meditate  on  scenes  more  silent  still ; 
Pursue  my  theme,  and  fight  the  fear  of  death. 
Here,  like  a  shepherd  gazing  from  his  hut, 
Touching  his  reed,  or  leaning  on  his  staff, 
Eager  ambition's  fiery  chase  I  see  ; 
I  see  the  circling  hunt  of  noisy  men 
Burst  law's  encfosure,  leap  the  mounds  of  right, 
Pursuing  and  pursued,  each  other's  prey, 
As  wolves  for  rapine  ;  as  the  fox  for  wiles  ; 
Till  death,  that  mighty  hunter,  earths  them  all." 

When  Addison  perceived  that  he  was  given  over  by 
his  physicians,  and  felt  his  end  approaching,  he  sent 
for  Lord  Warwick,  a  young  man  of  very  irregular  life 
and  loose  opinions,  whom  he  had  diligently,  but  vainly 
endeavored  to  reclaim,  but  who  by  no  means  wanted 
respect  for  the  person  of  his  preceptor,  and  was  sensi- 
ble of  the  loss  he  was  about  to  sustain.  When  he  en- 
tered the  chamber  of  his  dying  friend,  Addison,  who 
was  extremely  feeble,  and  whose  life  at  that  moment 
hung  quivering  on  his  lips,  observed  a  profound  si- 
lence. The  youth,  after  a  long  and  awful  pause,  at 
length  said,  in  low  and  trembling  accents,  "  Sir,  you 
desired  to  see  me :  signify  your  commands,  and  be  as 
sured  I  will  execute  them  with  religious  fidelity." 
Addison  took  him  by  the  hand,  and  with  his  expiring 
breath  replied,  "  observe  with  what  tranquillity  a  Chris- 
tian can  die."  Such  is  the  consolation  which  springs 
from  a  due  sense  of  the  principles,  and  a  proper  prac- 
tice of  the  precepts  of  our  holy  religion :  such  is  the 
high  reward  a  life  of  simplicity  and  innocence  bestows. 

He  who  during  the  retirement  of  the  day  seriously 
studies,  and  during  the  silence  of  the  night  piously 
contemplates  the  august  doctrines  of  revelation,  will 


IN  OLD  AGE.  145 

be  convinced  of  their  power  by  experiencing  their  ef- 
fect. He  will  review  with  composure  his  past  errors 
in  society,  perceive  with  satisfaction  his  present  com- 
fort in  solitude,  and  aspire  with  hope  to  future  happi- 
ness in  heaven.  He  will  think  with  the  freedom  of  a 
philosopher,  live  with  the  piety  of  a  Christian,  and  re- 
nounce with  ease  the  poisonous  pleasures  of  society 
from  a  conviction  that  they  weaken  the  energies  of  his 
mind,  and  prevent  his  heart  from  raising  itself  toward 
his  God.  Disgusted  with  the  vanities  and  follies  of 
public  life,  he  will  retire  into  privacy,  and  contemplate 
the  importance  of  eteinity.  Even  if  he  be  still  obliged 
occasionally  to  venture  on  the  stormy  sea  of  busy  fife, 
he  will  avoid  with  greater  skill  and  prudence  the  rocks 
and  sands  by  which  he  is  surrounded,  and  steer  with 
greater  certainty  and  effect  from  the  tempests  which 
most  threaten  his  destruction ;  rejoicing  less  at  the 
pleasant  course  which  a  favorable  wind  and  clear  sky 
may  afford  him,  than  at  his  having  happily  eluded 
such  a  multitude  of  dangers. 

The  hours  consecrated  to  God  in  solitude,  are  not 
only  the  most  important,  but  when  we  are  habituated 
to  this  holy  communion,  the  happiest  of  our  lives. 
Every  time  we  silently  elevate  our  thoughts  toward 
the  great  Author  of  our  being,  we  recur  to  a  contem- 
plation of  ourselves :  and  being  rendered  sensible  of 
our  nearer  approach,  not  only  in  idea,  but  in  reality,  to 
the  seat  of  eternal  felicity,  we  retire,  without  regret, 
from  the  noisy  multitude  of  the  world.  A  philosophic 
view  and  complete  knowledge  of  the  nature  of  the  spe- 
cies creep  by  degrees  upon  the  mind:  we  scrutinize 
our  characters  with  greater  severity ;  feel  with  redou- 
bled force  the  necessity  of  a  reformation ;  and  reflect 
with  substantial  effect  on  the  glorious  end  for  which 
we  were  created.  Conscious  that  human  actions  are 
acceptable  to  the  Almighty  mind  only  in  proportion  as 
they  are  prompted  by  motives  of  the  purest  virtue,  men 
ought  benevolently  to  suppose  that  every  good  work 
springs  from  an  untainted  source  and  is  performed 
merely  for  the  benefit  of  mankind ;  but  human  actions 
are  exposed  to  the  influence  of  a  variety  of  secondary 
causes,  and  cannot  always  be  the  pure  production  of 
an  unbiassed  heart.  Good  works,  however,  from 
whatever  motive  they  arise,  always  convey  a  certain 
satisfaction  and  complacency  to  the  mind.  But  when 
the  real  merit  of  the  performer  is  to  be  actually  inves- 
tigated, the  inquiry  must  always  be,  whether  the  mind 
13 


l46  ADVANTAGES  OF  SOLITU0K 

was  not  actuated  by  sinister  views,  by  the  hope  of  gra 
tifyin*-  a  momentary  passion,  by  the  feelings  of  self 
love,  rather  than  by  the  sympathies  of  brotherly  affec- 
tion:  and  these  subtle  and  important  questions  are 
certainly  discussed  with  closer  scrutiny,  and  the  mo- 
tives of  the  heart  explored  and  developed  with  greater 
sincerity,  during  those  hours  when  we  are  alone  before 
God  than  in  any  other  situation. 

Firm  and  untainted  virtue,  indeed,  cannot  be  so 
easily  and  efficaciously  acquired,  as  by  practising  the 
precepts  of  Christianity  in  the  bowers  of  solitude.  Re- 
ligion refines  our  moral  sentiments,  disengages  the 
heart  from  every  vain  desire,  renders  it  tranquil  under 
misfortunes,  humble  in  the  presence  of  God,  and  steady 
in  the  society  of  men.  A  life  passed  in  the  practice  of 
every  virtue,  affords  us  a  rich  reward  for  all  the  hours 
we  have  consecrated  to  its  duties,  and  enables  us  in  the 
silence  of  solitude  to  raise  our  pure  hands  and  chaste 
hearts  in  pious  adoration  to  our  Almighty  Father  ! 

How  "low,  flat  stale,  and  unprofitable,  seem  all  the 
uses  of  this  world,"  when  tht  mind,  boldly  soaring  be- 
yond this  lower  sphere,  indulges  the  idea  that  the  plea- 
sures which  result  from  a  life  of  innocence  and  virtue 
may  be  faintly  analogous  to  the  felicities  of  heaven! 
At  least,  I  trust  we  may  be  permitted  unoffendingly  to 
conceive,  according  to  our  worldly  apprehensions,  that 
a  free  and  unbounded  liberty  of  thought  and  action,  a 
high  admiration  of  the  universal  system  of  nature,  a 
participation  of  the  divine  essence,  a  perfect  commu- 
nion of  friendship,  and  a  pure  interchange  of  love,  may 
be  a  portion  of  the  enjoyments  we  hope  to  experience 
in  those  regions  of  peace  and  happiness  where  no  im- 
pure or  improper  sentiment  can  taint  the  mind.  But 
notions  like  these,  although  they  agreeably  flatter  our 
imaginations,  shed  at  present  but  a  glimmering  light 
upon  this  awful  subject,  and  must  continue,  like  dreams 
and  visions  of  the  vnind,  until  the  clouds  and  thick  dark- 
ness which  surwn.nded  the  tomb  of  mortality  no  longer 
obscure  the  bright  glories  of  everlasting  life ;  until  the 
veil  shall  be  rent  asunder,  and  the  Eternal  shall  reveal 
those  things  which  no  eye  hath  seen,  no  ear  has  heard, 
and,  which  passeth  all  understanding.  For  I  acknow- 
ledge, with  awful  reverence  and  silent  submission,  that 
the  knowledge  of  eternity  is  to  the  human  intellect 
like  that  which  the  color  of  crimson  appeared  to  be  in 
the  mind  of  a  blind  man,  who  compared  it  to  the  sound 
of  a  trumpet.  I  caiinot,  however,  conceive,  that  a  no- 


IN  OLD  AGE.  147 

lion  more  comfortable  can  be  entertained,  than  that 
eternity  promises  a  constant  and  uninterrupted  tran- 
quillity ;  although  I  am  perfectly  conscious  that  it  is  im- 
possible to  form  an  adequate  idea  of  the  nature  of  that 
enjoyment  which  is  produced  by  happiness  without 
end.  An  everlasting  tranquillity  is,  in  my  imagination, 
the  highest  possible  felicity,  because  I  know  of  no  feli- 
city upon  earth  higher  than  that  which  a  peaceful  mind 
and  contented  heart  afford. 

Since,  therefore,  internal  and  external  tranquillity  is, 
upon  earth,  an  incontestable  commencement  of  beati- 
tude, it  may  be  extremely  useful  to  believe,  that  a  ra- 
tional and  qualified  seclusion  from  the  tumults  of  the 
world,  may  so  highly  rectify  the  faculties  of  the  human 
soul,  as  to  enable  us  to  acquire  in  "  blissful  solitude" 
the  elements  of  that  happiness  we  expect  to  enjoy  in 
the  world  to  come. 

He  is  the  happy  man,  whose  life  e'en  now, 

Shows  somewhat  of  that  happier  life  to  come  : 

Who,  doom'd  to  an  obscure  but  tranquil  state, 

Is  pleas'd  with  it,  and,  were  he  free  to  choose 

Would  make  his  fate  his  choice  :  whom  peace,  the  fruit 

Of  virtue,  and  whom  virtue,  fruit  of  faith, 

Prepare  for  happiness  ;  bespeak  him  one 

Content,  indeed,  to  sojourn  while  he  must 

Below  the  skies,  but  having  there  his  home, 

The  world  o'erlooks  him  in  her  busy  search 

Of  objects  more  illustrious  in  her  view  ; 

And  occupied  as  earnestly  as  she ;  , 

Though  more  sublimely,  he  o'erlooks  the  world. 

She  scorns  his  pleasures,  for  she  knows  them  not; 

He  seeks  not  hers,  for  he  has  proved  them  vain. 

He  cannot  skim  the  ground  like  such  rare  birds 

Pursuing  gilded  flies,  and  such  he  deema 

Her  honors,  her  emoluments,  her  joys. 

Therefore  in  contemplation  is  his  bliss, 

Whose  power  is  such,  that  whom  she  lifts  from  earth 

She  makes  familiar  with  a  heaven  unseen, 

And  shows  him  glories  yet  to  be  reveal 'd. 


END  OF  PART  1. 


SOLITUDE. 

PART  U. 


THE  PERNICIOUS  INFLUENCE  OF  A  TOTAL  SECLUSION  PROM 
SOCIETY  UPON  THE  MIND  AND  THE  HEART. 


CHAPTER  I. 

Introduction. 

SOLITUDE,  in  its  strict  and  literal  acceptation,  is 
equally  unfriendly  to  the  happiness,  and  foreign  to  the 
nature  of  mankind.  An  inclination  to  exercise  the  fa- 
culty of  speech,  to  interchange  the  sentiments  of  the 
mind,  to  indulge  the  affections  of  the  heart,  and  to  re- 
ceive themselves,  while  they  bestow  on  others,  a  kind 
assistance  and  support,  drives  men,  by  an  ever  active, 
and  almost  irresistible  impulse,  from  solitude  to  socie- 
ty: and  teaches  them  that  the  highest  temporal  felicity 
they  are  capable  of  enjoying,  must  be  sought  for  in  a 
suitable  union  of  the  sexes,  and  in  a  friendly  inter- 
course with  their  fellow  creatures.  The  profoundest 
deductions  of  reason,  the  highest  flights  of  fancy,  the 
finest  sensibilities  of  the  heart,  the  happiest  discoveries 
of  science,  and  the  most  valuable  productions  of  art, 
are  feebly  felt,  and  imperfectly  enjoyed,  in  the  cold  and 
cheerless  regions  of  solitude.  It  is  not  to  the  senseless 
rock,  or  to  the  passing  gale,  that  we  can  satisfactorily 
communicate  our  pleasures  and  our  pains.  The  heavy 
sighs  which  incessantly  transpire  from  the  vacant  bo- 
soms of  the  solitary  hermit  and  the  surly  misanthropist, 
indicate  the  absence  of  those  high  delights  which  ever 
accompany  congenial  sentiment  and  mutual  affection. 
The  soul  sinks  under  a  situation  in  which  there  are  no 
kindred  bosoms  to  participate  its  joys,  and  sympathise 
in  its  sorrows ;  and  feels,  strongly  feels,  that  the  bene- 
ficent Creator  has  so  framed  and  moulded  the  temper 
of  our  minds,  that  society  is  the  earliest  impulse  and 
the  most  powerful  inclination  of  our  hearts. 
13* 


150  INTRODUCTION. 

Society,  however,  although  it  is  thus  pointed  out  to 
us,  as  it  were  by  the  finger  of  the  Almighty,  as  the 
means  of  reaching  our  highest  possible  state  of  earthly 
felicity,  is  so  pregnant  with  dangers,  that  it  depends 
entirely  on  ourselves,  whether  the  indulgence  of  this 
instinctive  propensity  shall  be  productive  of  happiness 
or  misery. 

The  pleasures  of  society,  like  pleasures  of  every  other 
kind,  must,  to  be  pure  and  permanent,  be  temperate 
and  discreet.  While  passion  animates,  and  sensibility 
cherishes,  reason  must  direct,  and  virtue  be  the  object 
of  our  course.  Those  who  search  for  happiness  in  a 
vague,  desultory,  and  indiscriminate  intercourse  with 
the  world ;  who  imagine  the  palace  of  pleasure  to  be 
surrounded  by  the  gay,  unthinking,  and  volatile  part  of 
the  species ;  who  conceive  that  the  rays  of  all  human 
delight  beam  from  places  of  public  festivity  and  resort ; 

"  Who  all  their  joys  in  mean  profusion  waste, 
Without  reflection,  management,  or  taste  ; 
Careless  of  all  that  virtue  gives  to  please  ; 
For  thought  too  active,  and  too  mad  for  ease ; 
Who  give  each  appetite  too  loose  a  rein, 
Push  all  enjoyment  to  the  verge  of  pain  ; 
Impetuous  follow  where  the  passions  call, 
And  live  in  rapture  or  not  live  at  all ;" 

will,  instead  of  lasting  and  satisfactory  fruition,  meet 
only  with  sorrowfnl  disappointment.  This  mode  of 
seeking  society  is  not  a  lational  indulgence  of  that  na- 
tural passion  which  heaven,  in  its  benevolence  to  man, 
has  planted  in  the  human  heart ;  but  merely  a  facti- 
tious desire,  an  habitual  pruriency,  produced  by  rest- 
less leisure,  and  encouraged  by  vanity  and  dissipation. 
Social  happiness,  true  and  essential  social  happiness, 
resides  only  in  the  bosom  of  love  and  in  the  arms  of 
friendship,  and  can  only  be  really  enjoyed  by  conge- 
nial hearts  and  kindred  minds,  in  the  domestic  bowers 
of  privacy  and  retirement.  Affectionate  intercourse  pro- 
duces an  inexhaustible  fund  of  delight.  It  is  the  peren- 
nial sunshine  of  the  mind.  With  what  extreme  anx- 
iety do  we  all  endeavor  to  find  an  amiable  being  with 
whom  we  may  form  a  tender  tie  and  close  attachement, 
who  may  inspire  us  with  unfading  bliss,  and  receive 
increase  of  happiness  from  our  endearments  and  atten- 
tion !  How  greatly  do  such  connexions  increase  the 
kind  and  benevolent  dispositions  of  the  heart !  and 
how  greatly  do  such  dispositions,  while  they  lead  the 


INTRODUCTION.  151 

mind  to  the  enjoyment  of  domestic  happiness,  awaken 
all  the  virtues,  and  call  forth  the  best  and  strongest 
energies  of  the  soul !  Deprived  of  the  chaste  and  en- 
dearing sympathies  of  love  and  friendship,  the  species 
sink  into  gross  sensuality  or  mute  indifference,  neglect 
the  improvement  of  their  faculties,  and  renounce  all 
anxiety  to  please ;  but  incited  by  these  propensities,  the 
sexes  mutually  exert  their  powers,  cultivate  their  ta- 
lents, call  every  intellectual  energy  into  action ;  and, 
by  endeavoring  to  promote  each  other's  happiness, 
mutually  secure  their  own. 

Adverse  circumstances,  however,  frequently  prevent 
well  disposed  characters,  not  only  from  making  the 
election  which  their  hearts  would  prompt,  and  their 
understandings  approve,  but  force  them  into  alliances 
which  both  reason  and  sensibility  reject.  It  is  from 
the  disappointments  of  love  or  of  ambition  that  the 
sexes  are  generally  repelled  from  society  to  solitude. 
The  affection,  the  tenderness,  the  sensibility  of  the 
heart,  are  but  too  often  torn  and  outraged  by  the  cru- 
elty and  malevolence  of  an  unfeeling  world,  in  vyhich 
vice  bears  on  its  audacious  front  the  mask  of  virtue, 
and  betrays  innocence  into  the  snares  of  unsuspected 
guilt.  The  victims,  however,  whether  of  love  or  of 
ambition,  who  retire  from  society  to  recruit  their  de- 
pressed spirits,  and  repair  their  disordered  minds,  can- 
not, without  injustice,  be  stigmatized  as  misanthro- 
pists, or  arraigned  as  anti-social  characters.  All  relish 
for  scenes  of  social  happiness  may  be  lost  by  an  ex- 
treme and  over  ardent  passion  for  the  enjoyments  of 
them ;  but  it  is  only  those  who  seek  retirement  from 
an  aversion  to  the  company  of  their  fellow  creatures, 
that  can  be  said  to  have  renounced,  or  be  destitute  of, 
the  common  sympathies  of  nature. 

The  present  age,  however,  is  not  likely  to  produce 
many  such  unnatural  characters,  for  the  manners  of 
the  whole  world,  and  particularly  of  Europe,  were 
never,  perhaps,  more  disposed  to  company.  The  rage 
for  public  entertainments  seems  to  have  infected  all 
the  classes  of  society.  The  pleasures  of  private  life 
seem  to  be  held  in  universal  detestation  and  contempt ; 
opprobrious  epithets,  defame  the  humble  enjoyments  of 
domestic  love,  and  those  whose  hours  are  not  consum- 
ed in  unmeaning  visits,  or  unsocial  parties,  are  regard- 
ed as  censors  of  the  common  conduct  of  the  world,  or 
as  enemies  to  their  fellow  creatures;  but  although 
mankind  appear  so  extremely  social,  they  certainly 


152  INTRODUCTION. 

were  never  less  friendly  and  affectionate.  Neither 
rank,  nor  sex,  nor  age,  is  free  from  this  pernicious  ha- 
bit. Infants,  before  they  can  well  lisp  the  rudiments  of 
speech,  are  initiated  into  the  idle  ceremonies  and  pa- 
rade of  company :  and  can  scarcely  meet  their  parents 
or  their  playmates  without  being  obliged  to  perform  a 
punctilious  salutation.  Formal  card  parties,  and  petty 
treats,  engross  the  time  that  should  be  devoted  to 
healthful  exercise  and  manly  recreation.  The  man- 
ners of  the  metropolis  are  imitated  with  inferior  splen- 
dor, but  with  greater  absurdity,  in  the  country ;  every 
village  has  its  routs  and  its  assemblies,  in  which  the 
curled  darlings  of  the  place  blaze  forth  in  feathered 
lustre  and  awkward  magnificence;  and  while  the 
charming  simplicity  of  one  sex  is  destroyed  by  affecta- 
tion, the  honest  virtues  of  the  other  by  dissolute  gallan- 
try, and  the  passions  of  both  inflamed  by  vicious  and 
indecent  mirth,  the  grave  elders  of  the  districts  are  try- 
ing their  tempers  and  impoverishing  their  purses  at 
sixpenny  whist  and  cassino. 

The  spirit  of  dissipation  has  reached  even  the  va- 
grant tribe.  The  Gypsies  of  Germany  suspend  their 
predatory  excursions,  and  on  one  previously-appointed 
evening  in  every  week,  assemble  to  enjoy  their  guilty 
spoils  in  the  fumes  of  strong  waters  and  tobacco.  The 
place  of  rendezvous  is  generally  the  vicinity  of  a  mill, 
the  proprietor  of  which,  by  affording  to  these  wander- 
ing tribes  an  undisturbed  asylum,  not  only  secures 
his  property  from  their  depredations,  but,  by  the  idle 
tales  with  which  they  contrive  to  amuse  his  ear,  re- 
specting the  characters  and  conduct  of  his  neighbors, 
furnishes  himself  with  new  subjects  of  conversation 
for  his  next  evening  coterie. 

Minds  that  derive  all  their  pleasure  from  the  levity 
and  mirth  of  promiscuous  company,  are  seldom  able 
to  contribute,  in  any  high  degree,  to  their  own  amuse- 
ment. Characters  like  these  search  every  place  for  en- 
tertainment, except  their  own  bosoms  and  the  bosoms 
of  their  surrounding  families,  where  by  proper  cultiva- 
tion, real  happiness^  the  happiness  arising  from  love 
and  friendship,  is  alone  capable  of  beinsr  found. 

The  wearied  pleasurist,  sinking  under  the  weight 
that  preys  upon  his  spirits,  flies  to  scenes  of  public  gay- 
ety  or  private  splendor,  in  fond  but  vain  expectation 
that  they  will  dispel  his  discontent,  and  recreate  his  mind; 
but  he  finds,  alas!  that  the  fancied  asylum  affords  him 
no  rest.  The  ever-craving  appetite  for  pastime  grows 


INTRODUCTION.  153 

by  what  it  feeds  on ;  and  the  worm,  which  devoured 
his  delight  amidst  his  sylvan  scenery  of  solitude,  still 
accompanies  him  to  crowded  halls  of  elegance  and  fes- 
tivity. While  he  eagerly  embraces  every  object  that 
promises  to  supply  tfie  dreadful  vacancy  of  his  mind, 
he  exhausts  his  remaining  strength:  enlarges  the  wound 
he  is  so  anxiously  endeavoring  to  heal ;  and  by  too  ea- 
gerly grasping  at  the  phantom  pleasure,  loses,  perhaps 
lor  ever,  the  substantial  power  of  being  happy. 

Men  whose  minds  are  capable  of  higher  enjoyments 
always  feel  these  perturbed  sensations,  when  deluded 
into  a  fashionable  party,  they  find  nothing  to  excite  cu- 
riosity, or  interest  their  feelings !  and  where  they  are 
pestered  by  the  frivolous  importunities  of  those  for 
whom  they  cannot  entertain  either  friendship  or  esteem. 
How.  indeed,  is  it  possible  for  a  sensible  mind  to  feel 
the. slightest  approbation,  when  a  coxcomb  enamored 
of  his  own  eloquence,  and  swoln  with  the  pride  of  self- 
conceited  merit,  tires  by  his  loquacious  nonsense,  all 
around  him  ? 

The  great  Leibnitz  was  observed  by  his  servant  fre- 
quently to  take  notes  while  he  sat  at  church ;  and  the 
domestic  very  rationally  conceived  that  he  was  making 
observations  on  the  subject  of  the  sermon:  but  it  is 
more  consistent  with  the  character  of  this  philosopher 
to  conclude,  that  he  was  indulging  the  powers  of  his 
own  capacious  and  excursive  mind,  when  those  of  the 
preacher  ceased  to  interest  him.  Thus  it  happens,  that 
while  the  multitude  are  driven  from  solitude  to  society, 
by  being  tired  of  themselves,  there  are  some,  and  those 
not  a  few,  who  seek  refuge  in  rational  retirement  from 
the  frivolous  dissipation  of  company. 

An  indolent  nund  is  as  irksome  to  itself  as  it  is  in- 
tolerable to  others ;  but  an  active  mind  feels  inexhaus- 
tible resources  in  its  own  power.  The  first  is  forced  to 
fly  from  itself  for  enjoyment,  while  the  other  calmly 
resigns  itself  to  its  own.  suggestions,  and  always  meets 
with  the  happiness  it  has  vainly  sought  for  in  its  com- 
munion with  the  world. 

To  rouse  the  soul  from  that  lethargy  into  which  its 
powers  are  so  apt  to  drop  from  the  tediousness  of  life, 
it  is  necessary  to  apply  a  stimulus  both  to  the  head  and 
to  the  heart.  Something  must  be  contrived  to  strike 
the  senses  and  interest  the  mind.  But  it  is  much  more 
difficult  to  convey  pleasure  to  others,  than  to  receive  it 
ourselves ;  and  while  the  many  wait  in  anxious  hope  of 
being  entertained,  thev  find  but  few  who  are  capable 


154 

of  entertaining.  Disappointment  increases  the  eager- 
ness of  desire ;  and  the  uneasy  multitude  rush  to  places 
of  public  resort,  endeavoring',  by  noise  and  bustle,  fes- 
tive gratification,  elegant  decoration,  rich  dresses,  splen- 
did illuminations,  sportive  dances,  and  sprightly  music, 
to  awaken  the  dormant  faculties,  and  agitute  the  stag- 
nant sensibilitiesof  the  soul.  These  scenes  may  becon- 
sidered  the  machineries  of  pleasure;  they  produce  a  tem- 
porary effect,  without  requiring  much  effort  or  co-ope- 
ration to  obtain  it;  while  those  higher  delights,  of 
which  retirement  is  capable,  cannot  be  truly  enjoyed 
without  a  certain  degree  of  intellectual  exertion.  There 
are,  indeed,  many  minds  so  totally  corrupted  by  the 
unceasing  pursuits  of  these  vain  and  empty  pleasures, 
that  they  'are  utterly  incapable  of  relishing  intellectual 
delight ;  which,  as  it  affords  an  enjoyment  totally  un- 
connected with,  and  independent  of,  common  society, 
requires  a  disposition  and  capacity  which  common  com- 
pany can  never  bestow.  Retirement,  therefore,  and 
its  attendant  enjoyments,  are  of  a  nature  too  refined 
for  the  gross  and.  vulgar  capacities  of  the  multitude, 
who  are  more  disposed  to  gratify  their  intellectual  in- 
dolence, by  receiving  a  species  of  entertainment  which 
does  not  require  from  them  the  exertion  of  thought, 
than  to  enjoy  pleasures  of  a  nobler  kind,  which  can  only 
be  procured  by  a  rational  restraint  of  the  passions,  and 
a  proper  exercise  of  the  powers  of  the  mind.  Violent 
and  tumultuous  impressions  can  alone  gratify  such 
characters,  whose  pleasures  like  those  of  the  slothful 
Sybarites,  only  indicate  the  pain  they  undergo  in  striv- 
ing to  be  happy. 

Men,  eager  for  the  enjoyment  of  worldly  pleasures, 
seldom  attain  the  obiect  they  pursue.  Dissatisfied  with 
the  enjoyments  of  the  moment,  they  long  for  absent 
delight,  which  seems  to  promise  a  more  poignant  gra- 
tification. Their  joys  are  like  those  of  Tantalus,  always 
in  view,  but  never  within  reach.  The  activity  of  such 
characters  lead  to  no  beneficial  end  ;  they  are  perpetually 
in  motion,  without  making  any  progress :  they  spur  on 
"  the  lazy  foot  of  time."  and  then  complain  of  the  rapi- 
dity of  its  flight,  only  because  they  have  made  no  good 
use  of  its  presence :  they  "  take  no  note  of  time  but  by 
its  loss ;"  and  year  follows  year,  only  to  increase  their 
uneasiness.  If  the  bright  beam  of  Aurora  wake  them 
from  their  perturbed  repose,  it  is  only  to  create  new 
anxiety  how  they  are  to  drag  through  the  passing  day. 
The  change  of  season  produces  no  change  in  their 


INTRODUCTION.  153 

wearied  dispositions ;  and  every  hour  comes  and  goes 
with  equal  indifference  and  discontent. 

The  pleasures  of  society,  however,  although  they  are 
attended  with  such  unhappy  effects,  and  pernicious 
consequences,  to  men  of  weak  heads  and  corrupted 
hearts,  who  only  follow  them  for  the  purpose  of  indulg- 
ing the  follies,  and  gratifying  the  vices,  to  which  they 
have  given  birth,  are  yet  capable  of  affording  to  the 
wise  and  the  virtuous,  a  high,  rational,  sublime,  and 
satisfactory  enjoyment.  The  world  is  the  only  theatre 
upon  which  great  and  noble  actions  can  be  performed, 
or  the  heights  of  moral  and  intellectual  excellence  use- 
fully attained.  The  society  of  the  wise  and  good,  ex- 
clusive of  the  pleasing  relaxation  it  affords  from  the 
anxieties  of  business,  and  the  cares  of  life,  conveys 
valuable  information  to  the  mind,  and  virtuous  feelings 
to  the  breast.  There  experience  imparts  its  wisdom  in 
a  manner  equally  engaging  and  impressive ;  the  facul- 
ties are  improved,  and  knowledge  increased.  Youth 
and  age  reciprocally  contribute  to  the  happiness  of 
each  other.  Such  a  society,  while  it  adds  firmness  to 
the  character,  gives  fashion  to  the  manners  ;  and  opens 
immediately  to  the  view  the  delightful  models  of  wis- 
dom and  integrity.  It  is  only  in  such  society  that  man 
can  rationally  hope  to  exercise,  with  any  prospect  of 
success,  the  latent  principle,  \vhich  continually  prompts 
him  to  pursue  the  high  felicity  of  which  he  feels  his 
nature  capable,  and  of  which  the  Creator  has  permitted 
him  to  form  a  faint  idea. 

"  In  every  human  heart  there  lies  reclined 
Some  atom  pregnant  with  ethereal  mind  ; 
Some  plastic  power,  some  intellectual  ray, 
Some  genial  sunbeam  from  the  source  of  day ; 
Something  that  warms,  and  restless  to  aspire. 
Wakes  the  young  heart,  and  sets  the  soul  on  Ore  ; 
And  bids  us  all  our  inborn  powers  employ 
To  catch  the  phantom  of  ideal  joy.' 

Sorrow  frequently  drives  its  unhappy  victims  from 
solitude  into  the  vortex  of  society  as  a  means  of  relief; 
for  solitude  is  terrible  to  those  whose  minds  are  torn 
with  anguish  for  the  loss  of  some  dear  friend,  whom 
death  has,  perhaps,  taken  untimely  from  their  arms ; 
and  who  would  willingly  renounce  all  worldly  joys  to 
hear  one  accent  of  that  beloved  voice,  which  used,  in 
calm  retirement,  to  fill  his  ear  with  harmony,  and  his 
heart  with  rapture. 


156  INTRODUCTION. 

Solitude  also  is  terrible  to  those  whose  felicity  is 
founded  on  popular  applause ;  who  have  acquired  a  de- 
gree of  fame  by  intrigue,  and  actions  of  C9unterfeited 
virtue;  and  who  suffer  the  most  excruciating  anxiety 
to  preserve  their  spurious  fame.  Conscious  of  the 
fraudulent  means  by  which  they  acquire  possession  of 
it,  and  of  the  weak  foundation  on  which  it  is  built,  it 
appears  continually  to  totter,  and  always  ready  to  over- 
whelm them  in  its  ruins.  Their  attention  is  sedulously 
called  to  every  quarter ;  and,  in  order  to  prop  up  the 
unsubstantial  fabric,  they  bend  with  mean  submission 
to  the  pride  of  power ;  flatter  the  vanity,  and  accommo- 
date themselves  to  the  vices  of  the  great ;  censure  the 
genius  that  provokes  their  jealousy ;  ridicule  the  virtue 
that  shames  the  conduct  of  their  patrons ;  submit  to  all 
the  follies  of  the  age;  take  advantage  of  its  errors; 
cherish  its  prejudices ;  applaud  its  superstition,  and  de- 
fend its  vices.  The  fashionable  circles  may,  perhaps, 
welcome  such  characters  as  their  best  supporters  and 
highest  ornaments ;  but  to  them  the  calm  and  tranquil 
pleasures  of  retirement  are  dreary  and  disgusting. 

To  all  those,  indeed,  whom  vice  has  betrayed  into 
guilt,  and  whose  bosoms  are  stung  by  the  adders  of  re- 
morse, solitude  is  doubly  terrible ;  and  they  fly  from 
its  shades  to  scenes  of  worldly  pleasure,  in  the  hope  of 
being  able  to  silence  the  keen  reproaches  of  violated 
conscience  in  the  tumults  of  society.  Vain  attempt ! 

Solitude,  indeed,  as  well  as  religion,  has  been  repre- 
sented in  such  dismal,  disagreeable  colors,  by  those 
who  were  incapable  of  tasting  its  sweets,  and  enjoying 
its  advantages,  that  many  dismiss  it  totally  from  afl 
their  schemes  of  happiness,  and  fly  to  it  only  to  allevi- 
ate the  bitterness  of  some  momentary  passion,  or  tem- 
porary adversity,  or  to  hide  the  blushes  of  approaching 
shame.  But  there  are  advantages  to  be  derived  from 
solitude,  even  under  such  circumstances,  by  those  who 
are  otherwise  incapable  of  enjoying  them.  Those  who 
know  the  most  delightful  comforts,  and  satisfactory 
enjoyments,  of  which  a  well  regulated  solitude  is  pro- 
ductive, like  those  who  are  acquainted  with  the  solid 
benefits  to  be  derived  from  religion,  will  seek  retire- 
ment, in  the  hours  of  prosperity  and  content,  as  the 
only  means  by  which  they  can  be  enjoyed  in  true  per- 
fection. The  tranquillity  of  its  shades  will  give  rich- 
ness to  their  joys ;  its  uninterrupted  quietude  will  enable 
them  to  expatiate  on  the  fullness  of  their  felicity ;  and 
they  will  turn  their  eyes  with  soft  compassion  on  the 


OP  THE  MOTIVES  157 

miseries  of  the  world,  when  compared  with  the  bless- 
ings they  enjoy. 

Strongly,  therefore,  as  the  social  principle  operates  in 
our  breast;  and  necessary  as  it  is,  when  properly  regu- 
lated, to  the  improvement  of  our  minds,  the  refinement 
of  our  manners,  and  the  melioration  of  our  hearts ;  yet 
some  i)Ortion  of  our  time  ought  to  be  devoted  to  ra- 
tional retirement :  and  \ye  must  not  conclude  that  those 
who  occasionally  abstain  from  the  tumultuous  plea- 
sures, and  promiscuous  enjoyments  of  the  world,  are 
morose  characters,  or  of  peevish  dispositions:  nor  stig- 
matize those  who  appear  to  prefer  the  calm  delights  of 
solitude  to  the  tumultuous  pleasures  of  the  world,  as 
unnatural  and  anti-social. 

"  Whoever  chinks,  must  see  that  man  was  made 
To  face  the  storm,  not  languish  in  the  shade  : 
Action's  his  sphere,  and  for  that  sphere  design'd, 
Eternal  pleasures  open  on  his  mind. 
For  this  fair  hope  leads  on  th'  impassion'd  soul 
Through  life's  wild  lab'rinths  to  her  distant  goal , 
Faints  in  each  dream,  to  fan  the  genial  flame, 
The  pomp  of  riches,  and  the  pride  of  fame- 
Or  fondly  gives  reflection's  cooler  eye 
In  solitude,  an  image  of  a  future  sky." 


CHAPTER  II. 

Of  the  motives  to  lolitude. 

THE  motives  which  induce  men  to  exchange  the  tu- 
multuous jo^s  of  society,  for  the  calm  and  temperate 
pleasures  of  solitude,  are  various  and  accidental ;  buj 
whatever  may  be  the  final  cause  of  such  an  exchange, 
it  is  generally  founded  on  an  inclination  to  escape  from 
some  present  or  impending  constraint;  to  shake  off  the 
shackles  of  the  world  ;  to  taste  the  sweets  of  soft  re- 
pose: to  enjoy  the  free  and  undisturbed  exertion  of  the 
intellectual  faculties;  or  to  perform,  beyond  the  reach 
of  ridicule,  the  important  duties  of  religion.  But  the 
busy  pursuits  of  worldly  minded  men  prevent  the  great- 
er part  of  the  species  from  feeling  these  motives,  and, 
of  course,  from  tasting  the  sweets  of  unmolested  exist- 
ence. Their  pleasures  are  pursued  in  paths  which  lead 
to  very  different  goals :  and  the  real,  constant,  and  un- 
affected lover  of  retirement  is  a  character  so  rarely 
found,  that  it  seems  to  prove  the  truth  of  lord  Veru- 
14 


158  OF  THE  MOTIVES 

lam's  observation,  that  he  who  is  really  attached  to  sol- 
itude, must  be  either  more  or  less  than  man.;  and  cer- 
tain it  is,  that  while  the  wise  and  virtuous  discover  in 
retirement  an  uncommon  and  transcending  brightness 
of  character,  the  vicious  and  the  ignorant  are  buried 
under  its  weight,  and  sink  even  beneath  their  ordinary 
level.  Retirement  gives  additional  firmness  to  the 
principles  of  those  who  seek  it  from  a  noble  love  of  in- 
dependence, but  loosens  the  feeble  consistency  of  those 
who  only  seek  it  from  novelty  and  caprice. 

To  render  solitude  serviceable,  the  powers  of  the 
mind,  and  the  sensibilities  of  the  heart,  must  be  co- 
equal,  and  reciprocally  regulate  each  other;  weakness 
ofintellect,  when  joined  with  quick  feelings,  hurries 
its  possessor  into  all  the  tunuilt  of  worldly  pleasure ; 
and  when  mingled  with  torpid  insensibility,  impels  him 
to  the  cloister."  Extremes,  both  in  solitude  and  in  so- 
ciety, are  equally  baneful. 

A  strong  sense  of  shame,  the  keen  compunctions  of 
conscience,  a  deep  regret  for  past  follies,  the  mortifica- 
tion arising  from  disappointed  hopes,  and  the  deject ioir 
which  accompanies  disordered  health,  sometimes  so 
affect  the  spirits,  and  destroy  the  energies  of  the  mindT 
that  the  soul  shrinks  back  upon  itself  at  the  very  ap- 
proach of  company,  and  withdraws  to  the  shades  of 
solitude,  only  to  brood  and  languish  in  obscurity.  The 
inclination  to  retire,,  in  cases  of  this  description,  arises 
from  a  fear  of  meeting  the  reproaches  or  disregard  of 
an  unpitying  and  unreflecting  world,  and  not  from  that 
erect  spirit  which  disposes  the  mind  to  self  enjoyment. 

The  disgust  arising  from  satiety  of  worldly  pleasures, 
frequently  induces  a  temporary  desire  for  solitude. 
The  dark  and  gloomy  nature,  indeed,  of  this  disposi- 
tion, is  such  as  neither  the  splendors  of  a  throne,  nor 
the  light  of  philosophy,  are  able  to  irradiate  and  dispel. 
The  austere  and  petulant  Heraclitus  abandoned  all  the 
pleasures  and  comforts  of  society,  in  the  vain  hope  01 
being  able  to  gratify  his  discontented  mind,  by  indulg- 
ing an  antipathy  against  his  fellow  creatures;  flying 
from  their  presence  he  retired,  like  his  predecessor 
Timon,  to  a  high  mountain,  where  he  lived  for  many 
years  among  the  beasts  of  the  desert,  on  the  rude  pro- 
duce of  the  earth,  resrardless  of  all  the  comforts  a  civi- 
lized society  is  capable  of  bestowing.  Such  a  temper 
of  mind  proceeds  from  a  sickened  intellect  and  disor 
dered  sensibilitv,  and  indicates  the  loss  of  that  fine,  but 
firm  sense  of  pleasure,  from  which  aloue  all  real  eu 


TO  SOLITUDE.  159 

joy  men  t  must  spring.  He  who  having  tasted  all  that 
can  delight  the  senses,  warm  the  heart,  and  satisfy  the 
mind,  secretly  sighs  over  the  vanity  of  his  enjoyments, 
and  beholds  all  the  cheering  objects  of  life  with  indif- 
ference, is,  indeed,  a  melancholy  example  of  the  sad 
effects  which  result  from  an  intemperate  pursuit  of 
worldly  pleasures.  Such  a  man  may,  perhaps,  abandon 
society,  for  it  is  no  longer  capable  of  affording  him  de- 
light ;  but  lie  will  be  debarred  from  all  rational  soli- 
tude, because  he  is  incapable  of  enjoying  it,  and  a  re- 
fuge to  the  brute  creation  seems  his  only  resource.  I 
have,  indeed,  observed  even  noblemen  and  princes  in 
the  midst  of  abundance,  and  surrounded  by  all  the 
Bplendor  that  successful  ambition,  high  state,  vast 
riches,  and  varying  pleasures  can  confer,  sinking  the 
sad  victims  of  satiety ;  disgusted  with  their  glories ; 
and  dissatisfied  with  all  those  enjoyments  which  are 
supposed  to  give  a  higher  relish  to  the  soul ;  but  they 
had  happily  enriched  their  minds  with  notions  far  su- 
perior to  all  those  which  flow  from  the  corrupted 
scenes  of  vitiated  pleasures  :  and  they  found,  in  soli- 
tude, a  soft  and  tranquil  pillow,  which  invited  their 
perturbed  minds,  and  at  length  lulled  their  feelings 
into  calm  repose.  These  characters  were  betrayed  fora 
time  by  the  circumstances  which  surrounded  their  ex- 
alted stations  into  an  excess  of  enjoyment ;  but  they 
were  able  to  relish  the  simple  occupations,  and  to  en- 
joy the  tranquil  amusements  of  retirement,  with  as 
much  satisfaction  as  they  had  formerly  pursued  the 
political  intrigues  of  the  cabinet,  the  hostile  glories  of 
the  field,  or  the  softer  indulgences  of 'peaceful  luxury ; 
and  were  thereby  rendered  capable  of  deriving  comfort 
and  consolation  from  that  source  which  seems  only  to 
heighten  and  exasperate  the  miseries  of  those  vyhose 
minds  are  totally  absorbed  in  the  dissipations  of  life. 

The  motives,  indeed,  which  lead  men  either  to  tem- 
porary retirement,  or  absolute  solitude,  are  innumera- 
bly various.  Minds  delicately  susceptible  to  the  im- 
pressions of  virtue,  frequently  avoid  society,  only  to 
avoid  the  pain  they  feel  in  observing  the  vices  and  fol- 
lies of  the  world.  Minds  active  and  vigorous,  frequent- 
ly retire  to  avoid  the  clogs  and  incumbrances  by  which 
the  tumults  and  engagements  of  society  distract  and 
impede  the  free  and  full  enjoyment  of  their  faculties 
The  basis,  indeed,  of  every  inclination  to  solitude  is 
the  love  of  liberty,  either  mental  or  corporeal:  a  free 
dom  from  ajl  constraint  and  interruption;  but  the  form 


160  OP  THE  MOTIVES 

in  which  the  inclination  displays  itself,  varies  accord- 
ing to  the  character  and  circumstances  of  the  indi- 
vidual. 

Men  who  are  engaged  in  pursuits  foreign  to  the 
natural  inclination  of  their  minds,  sigh  continually  for 
retirement,  as  the  only  means  of  recruiting  their  fa- 
tigued spirits,  and  procuring  a  comfortable  reixjse. 
Scenes  of  tranquillity  can  alone  afford  them  any  idea 
of  enjoyment.  A  refined  sense  of  duty,  indeed,  fre- 
quently induces  noble  minds  to  sacrifice  all  personal 
pleasures  to  the  great  interests  of  the  public,  or  the  pri- 
vate benefits  of  their  fellow  creatures ;  and  they  resist 
every  opposing  obstacle  with  courage,  and  bear  every 
adversity  with  fortitude,  under  those  cheering  senti- 
ments, and  proud  delights,  which  result  from  the  pur- 
suits of  active  charity  and  benevolence,  even  though 
their  career  be  thwarted  by  those  vyhose  advantages 
they  design  to  promote.  The  exhilarating  idea  of 
being  instrumental  in  affording  relief  to  suffering  hu- 
manity, reconciles  every  difficulty,  however  great: 
prompts  to  new  exertions,  however  fruitless ;  and  sus- 
tains them  in  those  arduous  conflicts,  in  which  all  who 
aspire  to  promote  the  interest,  and  improve  the  happi- 
ness of  mankind,  must  occasionally  engage,  especially 
when  opposed  by  the  pride  and  profligacy  of  the  rich 
and  great,  and  the  obstinacy  and  caprice  of  the  igno- 
rant and  unfeeling.  But  the  most  virtuous  and  steady 
minds  cannot  always  bear  up  against  "  a  sea  of  trou- 
bles, or  by  opposing,  end  them :"  and,  depressed  by 
temporary  adversities,  will  arraign  the  cruelty  of  their 
condition,  and  sigh  for  the  shades  of  peace  and  tran- 
quillity. How  transcendent  must  be  the  enjoyment  of 
d  great  and  good  minister  who,  after  having  anxiously 
attended  to  the  important  business  of  the  state,  and  dis- 
engaged himself  from  the  necessary  but  irksome  occu- 
pation of  official  detail,  refreshes  his  mind  in  the  calm 
of  some  delightful  retreat,  with  works  of  taste,  and 
thoughts  of  fancy  and  imagination !  A  change,  indeed, 
both  of  scene  and  sentiment,  is  absolutely  necessary, 
not  only  in  the  serious  and  important  employments,  but 
even  in  the  common  occupations  and  idle  amusements 
of  life.  Pleasure  springs  fiom  contrast.  The  most 
charming  object  loses  a  portion  of  its  power  to  delight, 
by  being  continually  beheld.  Alternate  society  and  so- 
litude are  necessary  to  the  full  enjoyment  of  both  the 
K'easures  of  the  world  and  the  delig'hts  of  retirement, 
is,  however,  asserted  that  the  "celebrated  Pascal, 


TO  SOLITUUE.  161 

whose  life  was  far  from  being  inactive,  that  quietude  is 
a  beam  of  the  original  purity  of  our  nature,  and  that 
the  height  of  human  happiness  is  in  solitude  and  tran- 
quillity. Tranquillity,  indeed,  is  the  wish  of  all:  the 
good,  while  pursuing  the  track  of  virtue ;  the  great 
while  following  the  star  of  glory ;  and  the  little,  while 
creeping  in  the  styes  of  dissipation,  sigh  for  tranquillity 
and  make  it  the  great  object  which  they  ultimately 
hope  to  attain.  How  anxiously  does  the  sailor,  on  the 
high  and  giddy  mast,  when  rolling  through  tempestu- 
ous seas,  cast  his  eyes  over  the  foaming  billows,  and 
anticipate  the  calm  security  he  hopes  to  enjoy  when  he 
reaches  the  wished  for  shore !  Even  kings  grow  weary 
of  their  splendid  slavery,  and  nobles  sicken  under  in- 
creasing dignities.  All,  in  short,  feel  less  delight  in  the 
actual  enjoyment  of  worldly  pursuits,  however  great 
and  honorable  they  may  be,  than  in  the  idea  of  then: 
being  able  to  relinquish  them  and  retire  to 

" some  calm  sequestered  spot ; 

The  world  forgetting,  by  the  world  forgot." 

The  restless  and  ambitious  Pyrrhus  hoped  that  ease 
and  tranquillity  would  be  the  ultimate  reward  of  his  en- 
terprising conquests.  Frederic  the  great,  discovered, 
perhaps  unintentionally,  how  pleasing  and  satisfactory 
the  idea  of  tranquillity  was  to  his  mind,  when  imme- 
diately after  he  had  gained  a  glorious  and  important 
victory,  he  exclaimed  on  the  field  of  battle,  "  Oh  that 
my  anxieties  may  now  be  ended  !"  The  emperor  Jo- 
seph also  displayed  the  predominancy  of  his  passion  for 
tranquillity  and  retirement,  when  on  asking  the  famous 
German  pedestrian,  Baron  Grothaus,  what  countries  he 
next  intended  to  traverse,  was  told  a  long  number  in 
rapid  succession.  "And  what  then?"  continued  the 
emperor.  "  Why  then,"  replied  the  baron,  "  I  intend 
to  retire  to  the  place  of  my  nativity,  and  enjoy  myself 
in  rural  quietude,  and  the  cultivation  of  my  patrimonial 
farm."  "Ah,  my  good  friend,"  exclaimed  the  emperor. 
':  if  you  will  trust  the  voice  of  sad  experience,  you  had 
better  neglect  the  walk,  and  retire  before  it  is  too  late, 
to  the  quietude  and  tranquillity  you  propose." 

Pubhus  Scipio,  surnamed  Afncanus,  during  the  time 
that  he  was  invested  with  the  highest  offices  of  Rome, 
and  immediately  engaged  in  the  most  important  con- 
cerns of  ti"»  empire,  withdrew  whenever  an  opportu- 
nity occurred,  from  public  observation,  to  peaceful  pri- 
14* 


162  OP  THE  MOTIVES 

vaqy ;  and  though  not  devoted,  like  Tully,  to  the  ele- 
gant occupations  of  literature  and  philosophy,  declared 
that  "  he  was  never  less  alone  than  when  alone."  He 
was,  says  Plutarch,  incomparably  the  first  both  in  vir- 
tue and  power,  of  the  Romans  of  his  time;  but  in  his 
highest  tide  of  fortune,  he  voluntarily  abandoned  the 
scene  of  his  glory,  and  calmly  retired  to  his  beautiful 
villa  in  the  midst  of  a  romantic  forest,  near  Liturnum, 
where  he  closed,  in  philosophic  tranquillity,  the  last 
years  of  a  long  and  splendid  life. 

Cicero,  in  the  plenitude  of  his  power,  at  a  time  when 
his  influence  over  the  minds  of  his  fello\v  citizens  was 
at  its  height,  retired,  with  the  retiring  liberties  of  his 
country,  to  his  Tusculum  villa,  to  deplore  the  approach- 
ing fate  of  his  beloved  city,  and  to  ease,  in  soothing 
solitude,  the  anguish  of  his  heart. 

Horace,  also,  the  gay  and  elegant  favorite  of  the 
great  Augustus,  even  in  the  meridian  rays  of  royal  fa- 
vor, renounced  the  smiles  of  greatness,  and  all  the  se- 
ductive blandishments  of  an  imperial  court,  to  enjoy 
his  happy  muse  among  the  romantic  wilds  of  his  se- 
questered villa  of  Tibur,  near  the  lake  Albunea. 

But  there  are  few  characters  who  have  passed  the 
concluding  scenes  of  life  with  more  real  dignity  than 
the  emperor  Diodesian.  In  the  twenty-first  year  of 
his  reign,  though  he  had  never  practised  the  lessons  of 
philosophy  either  in  the  attainment  or  the  use  of  su- 
preme power,  and  although  his  reign  had  flowed  with 
a  tide  of  uninterrupted  success,  he  executed  his  memo- 
rable resolution  of  abdicating  the  empire,  and  gave  the 
world  the  first  example  of  a  resignation  which  has  not 
been  very  frequently  imitated  by  succeeding  monarchs. 
Dioclesian  was  at  this  period  only  fifty-nine  years  of 
age,  and  in  the  full  possession  of  his  mental  faculties : 
but  he  had  vanquished  all  his  enemies,  and  executed 
all  his  designs ;  and  his  active  life,  his  wars,  his  jour- 
neys, the  cares  of  royalty,  and  his  application  to  busi- 
ness having  impaired  his  constitution,  and  brousrht  on 
the  infirmities  of  a  premature  old  age,  he  resolved  to 
pass  the  remainder  of  his  days  in  honorable  repose ;  to 
place  his  glory  beyond  the  reach  of  fortune,  and  to  re- 
linquish the  theatre  of  the  world  to  his  younger  and 
more  active  associates.  The  ceremony  of  his  abdica- 
tion was  performed  in  a  spacious  plain,  about  three 
miles  from  Nicomedia.  The  emperor  ascended  a  lofty 
throne,  and,  in  a  speech  full  of  reason  and  dignity, 
declared  his  intention  both  to  the  people  and  to  the  sol- 


TO   SOUTtTDE.  163 

diers,  who  were  assembled  on  this  extraordinary  occa- 
sion. As  soon  as  he  had  divested  himself  of  the  pur- 
ple, he  withdrew  from  the  gazing  multitude  ;  and  tra- 
versing the  city  in  a  covered  chariot,  proceeded  without 
delay  to  the  favorite  retirement  which  he  had  chosen  in 
his  native  country  of  Dalmatia.  The  emperor,  who, 
from  a  servile  origin,  had  raised  himself  to  the  throne, 
passed  the  last  nine  years  of  his  life  in  a  private  condi- 
tion at  Salona.  Reason  had  dictated,  and  content 
seems  to  have  accompanied,  his  retreat,  in  which  he 
enjoyed  for  a  long  time  the  respect  of  those  princes  to 
whom  he  had  resigned  the  possession  of  the  world.  It 
is  seldom  that  minds  long  exercised  in  business  have 
formed  any  habits  of  conversing  with  themselves, 
and  in  the  loss  of  power,  they  principally  regret  the 
want  of  occupation.  The  amusements  of  letters  and 
of  devotion,  which  afford  so  many  resources  in  solitude, 
were  incapable  of  fixing  the  attention  of  Dioclesian  : 
but  he  had  preserved,  or,  at  least,  he  soon  recovered,  a 
taste  for  the  most  innocent  as  well  as  natural  pleasures; 
and  his  leisure  hours  were  sufficiently  employed  in 
building,  planting,  and  gardening-.  His  answer  to 
Maximian  is  deservedly  celebrated.  He  was  solicited 
by  that  restless  old  man  to  resume  the  reins  of  govern- 
ment and  the  imperial  purple.  He  rejected  the  temp- 
tation with  a  smile  of  pity,  calmly  observing,  that  if  he 
could  show  Maximian  the  cabbages  he  had"  planted  at 
Salona,  lie  should  be  no  longer  urged  to  relinquish  the 
enjoyment  of  happiness  for  the  pursuit  of  power.  In 
his  conversations  with  his  friends  he  frequently  ac- 
knowledged, that  of  all  the  arts  the  most  difficult  was 
that  of  reigning ;  and  he  expressed  himself  on  that 
favorite  topic  with  a  degree  of  warmth  which  could  be 
the  result  only  of  experience.  "  How  often,"  was  he  ac- 
customed to  say,  '*  is  it  the  interest  of  four  or  five  mi- 
nisters to  combine  toe-ether  to  deceive  the  sovereign ! 
Secluded  from  mankind  by  his  exalted  dignity,  the 
truth  is  concealed  from  his  knowledge:  he  can  only 
see  with  their  eyes ;  he  hears  nothing  but  their  misrepre- 
sentations. He  confers  the  most  important  offices  upon 
vice  and  \yeakness,  and  diss-races  the  most  virtuous 
and  deserving  among  his  subjects ;  and  by  such  infa- 
mous acts  the  best  and  wisest  princes  are  sold  to  the 
venal  corruption  of  their  courtiers."  A  just  estimate 
of  greatness,  and  the  assurance  of  immortal  fame,  im- 
prove our  relish  for  the  pleasures  of  retirement. 
Zenobia,  the  celebrated  queeu  of  Palmyra  and  the 


164  OF  THE  MOTIVES 

east ;  a  female  whose  superior  genius  broke  through 
the  servile  indolence  imposed  on  her  sex  by  the  climate 
and  manners  of  Asia,  the  most  lovely  as  well  as  the 
most  heroic  of  her  sex.  who  spread  the  terror  of  her 
arms  over  Arabia,  Armenia,  and  Persia,  and  kept  even 
the  legions  of  the  Roman  empire  in  awe,  was,  after  the 
two  great  battles  of  Antiochand  Emesa,  at  length  sub- 
dued, and  made  the  illustrious  captive  of  the  emperor 
Aurelian:  but  the  conqueror,  respecting  the  sex.  the 
beauty,  tne  courage  and  endowments  of  the  Syrian 
queen,  not  only  preserved  her  life,  but  presented  her 
with  an  elegant  villa  at  Tiburor  Tivoli,  about  twenty 
miles  from  Rome ;  where,  in  happy  tranquillity,  she 
fed  the  greatness  of  her  soul  with  the  noble  images  of 
Homer,  and  the  exalted  precepts  of  Plato ;  supported 
the  adversity  of  her  fortunes  with  fortitude  and  resig- 
nation ;  and  learnt  that  the  anxieties  attendant  on  am- 
bition are  happily  exchanged  for  the  enjoyments  of 
^ease  and  the  comforts  of  philosophy. 

Charles  V.  resigned  the  government  of  the  empire 
to  his  brother  the  king  of  the  Romans ;  and  transfer- 
red all  claims  of  obedience  and  allegiance  to  him  from 
the  Germanic  body,  in  order  that  he  might  no  longer 
be  detained  from  that  retreat  for  which  he  long  had 
languished.  In  passing,  some  years  before,  from  Val- 
ladolid  to  Placentia,  in  the  Province  of  Estremadura, 
he  was  struck  with  the  delightful  situation  ol  the 
monastery  of  St.  Justus,  belonging  to  the  order  of  St. 
Jerome,  not  many  miles  distant  from  the  town ;  and  ob- 
served to  some  of  his  attendants,  that  this  was  a  spot 
to  which  Dioclesiau  might  have  retired  with  pleasure. 
The  impression  remained  upon  his  mind,  and  he  de- 
termined to  make  it  the  place  of  his  own  retreat.  It 
was  seated  in  a  vale  of  no  great  extent,  watered  by  a 
small  brook,  and  surrounded  by  rising  grounds  covered 
with  lofty  trees;  and  from  the  nature  of  the  soil,  as 
well  as  the  temperature  of  the  climate,  was  esteemed 
the  most  healthful  and  delicious  situation  in  Spain. 
Some  months  before  his  resignation,  he  had  sent  an 
architect  thither  to  add  a  new  apartment  to  the  monas- 
tery for  his  accommodation  ;  but  he  gave  strict  orders 
that  the  style  of  the  buildi.-g  should  be  such  as  suited 
his  present  station  rather  than  his  former  dignity.  It 
consisted  only  of  six  rooms ;  four  of  them  in  the  form 
of  friar's  cells,  with  naked  walls ;  the  other  two,  each 
twenty  feet  square,  were  hung  with  brown  cloth,  and 
furnished  in  the  most  simple  manner ;  they  were  all  o& 


TO    SOLITUDE.  165 

a  level  with  the  ground,  with  a  door  on  one  side  into  a 
garden  of  which  Charles  himself  had  given  the  plan, 
and  had  filled  it  with  various  plants,  which  he  intended 
to  cultivate  with  his  own  hands.  On  the  other  side 
they  communicated  with  the  chapel  of  the  monastery, 
in  which  he  was  to  perform  his  devotions.  In  this 
humble  retreat,  hardly  sufficient  for  the  comfortable 
accommodation  of  a  private  gentleman,  did  Charles 
enter  with  twelve  domestics  only,  and  buried  in  solitude 
and  silence  his  grandeur,  his  ambition,  and  all  those 
vast  projects  which,  during  almost  half  a  century,  had 
alarmed  and  agitated  Europe:  filling  every  kingdom  in 
it  by  turns  with  the  terror  of  his  arms,  and  the  dread 
of  being  subdued  by  his  power. 

These  instances  of  resignation  and  retirement,  to 
which  many  others  might  have  been  added,  sufficient- 
ly prove  that  a  desire  to  live  in  free  leisure,  indepen- 
dent of  the  restraints  of  society,  is  one  of  the  most 
powerful  affections  of  the  human  mind  ;  and  that  soli- 
tude, judiciously  and  rationally  employed,  amply  com- 
pensates all  that  is  sacrificed  for  the  purpose  of  enjoy- 
ni"' iL 

But  there  are  many  other  resources  from  whence 
an  anti-social  disposition  may  arise,  which  merits  con- 
sideration. That  terrible  malady,  the  hypocondria, 
frequently  renders  the  unhappy  sufferer  not  only 
averse  to  society  in  general,  but  even  fearful  of  meet- 
ing a  human  being ;  and  the  still  more  dreadful  malady 
a  wounded  heart,  increases  our  antipathy  to  mankind. 
The  fear  of  unfounded  calumny  also  sometimes  drives 
weak  and  dejected  minds  into  the  imaginary  shelter  of 
obscurity ;  and  even  strong  and  honest  characters,  prone 
to  disclose  their  real  sentiments,  are  disgusted  at  the 
world  from  a  consciousness  of  its  being  unable  to  listen 
temperately  to  the  voice  of  truth.  The  obstinacy  with 
which  mankind  persist  in  habitual  errors,  and  the  vio- 
lence with  which  they  indulge  inveterate  passions,  a 
deep  regret  for  their  follies,  and  the  horror  which  their 
vices  create,  drives  us  frequently  from  their  presence. 
The  love  of  science,  a  fondness  for  the  arts,  and  an  at- 
tachment to  the  immortal  works  of  genius,  induce,  I 
trust,  not  a  few  to  neglect  all  anxiety  to  learn  the  com- 
mon news  of  the  day,  and  keep  them  in  some  calm, 
sequestered  retreat  far  from  the  unmeaning  manners 
of  (he  noisy  world,  improving  the  genuine  feelings  of 
their  hearts,  and  storing  their  minds  with  the  principles 
of  true  philosophy.  There  arc  others,  though  I  fear  they 


166  op  THE  MOTIVES 

are  few,  who,  impressed  by  a.  strong  sense  of  the  du- 
ties of  religion,  and  feeling  how  incompatible  with 
their  practice  are  most,  if  not  all,  the  factitious  joys  of 
social  life,  retire  from  the  corrupted  scene,  to  contem- 
plate, in  sacred  privacy,  the  attributes  of  a  Being  unal- 
terably pure,  and  infinitely  good;  to  impress  upon  their 
minds  so  strong  a  sense  of  the  importance  of  obedience 
to  the  divine  will,  of  the  value  of  the  reward  promised 
.to  virtue,  and  the  terrors  of  the  punishment  denounced 
against  crimes,  as  may  overbear  all  temptations  which 
temporal  hope  or  fear  can  bring  in  their  way,  and  ena- 
ble them  to  bid  equal  defiance  to  joy  and  sorrow ;  to 
turn  away  at  one  time  from  the  allurements  of  ambi- 
tion, and  press  forward  at  another  against  the  threats 
of  calamity. 

The  dejection  occasioned  by  the  hypochondria  ren- 
ders the  mind  not  only  averse  from,  but  wholly  inca- 
pable of,  any  pleasure,  and  induces  the  unhappy  suffer- 
er to  seek  a  solitude  by  which  it  is  increased.  The  in- 
fluence of  this  dreadful  malady  is  so  powerful,  that  it 
destroys  all  hope  of  remedy,  and  prevents  those  exer- 
tions, by  which  aloner  we  are  told  it  can  be  cured. 

To  cure  the  mind's  wrong  bias — spleen, 
Some  recommend  the  bowling-green  j 
Some,  hilly  walks;  all,  exercise; 
Fling  but  a- stone,  the  giant  dies  -t 
Laugh,  and  be  well.    Monkies  hare  been 
Extreme  good  doctors  for  the  spleen ; 
And  kittens,  if  the  humor  hit, 
Have  harlequined  away  the  fit. 

But,  alas !  the  heart  shuts  itself  against  every  pleas- 
ing sensation,  and  the  mind  dismisses  every  cheering 
sentiment.  Joy  opens  in  vain  its  festal  arms  to  receive 
him;  and  he  shuns  embraces,  whose  light  and  mirthful 
air  would  only  serve  to  increase  the  melancholy  of  his 
dreary  and  distempered  mind.  Even  the  tender,  affec- 
tionate offices  of  friendship,  in  endeavoring  to  sooth 
and  divert  his  mind  by  lively  conversation  and  social 
jnterc9iirse,  appear  officious  and  ill-timed.  His  spirits 
are  quite  dejected ;  his  faculties  become  torpid  ;  and  his 
sense  of  enjoyment  is  annihilated.  The  charming  air 
which  breathes  to  us  the  sweetest  fragrance,  and  most 
invigorating  delights,  feels  to  him  like  a  pestilent  coiv* 
gregation  of  vapors. 

His  pensive  spirit  takes  the  lonely  grove 
Nightly  h-j  visits  all  the  sylvan  scenes, 


TO  SOLITUDE.  167 

Where,  far  remote,  a  melancholy  moon 
Raising  her  head,  serene  and  shorn  of  beams, 
Throws  here  and  there  the  glimmerings  through  the  trees, 
To  make  more  awful  darkness. 

Conscious  that  his  frame  is  totally  unstrung,  and  that 
his  pulse  is  incapable  of  beating  in  any  pleasant  unison 
with  the  feelings  of  his  healthful  friends,  he  withers 
into  sorrowful  decay.  Every  object  around  him  ap- 
pears to  be  at  enmity  with  his  feelings,  and  comes 
shapeless  and  discolored  to  his  disordered  eyes.  The 
gentle  voice  of  pity  grates  his  ears  with  harsh  and  hol- 
low sounds,  and  seems  to  reproach  him  with  insulting 
tones.  Stricken  by  his  dreadful  malady,  the  lamenta- 
ble effects  of  which  a  cruel  and  unfeeling  world  so  of- 
ten ridicule  and  despise,  and  constantly  tearing  open 
the  wound  it  has  occasioned,  the  afflicted  spirit  flies 
from  every  scene  of  social  joy  and  animating  pleasure, 
seeks  as  a  sole  resource,  to  hide  its  sorrows  in  solitary 
seclusion,  and  awaits,  in  lingering  sufferance,  the  stroke 
of  death. 

The  erroneous  opinions,  perverse  dispositions,  and 
inveterate  prejudices  of  the  world,  are  sometimes  the 
causes  which  induce  men  to  retire  from  society,  and 
seek  in  solitude  the  enjoyments  of  innocence  and  truth. 
Careless  of  a  commerce  with  those  for  whom  they  can 
entertain  no  esteem,  their  minds  naturally  incline  to- 
ward those  scenes  in  which  their  fancy  paints  the  fair- 
est form  of  felicity.  He,  indeed,  whose  free  and  inde- 
pendent spirit  is  resolved  to  permit  his  mind  to  think  for 
itself;  who  disdains  to  form  his  feelings,  and  to  fashion 
his  opinions,  upon  the  capricious  notions  of  the.  world ; 
who  is  too  candid  to  expect  that  others  should  be  guid- 
ed by  his  notions,  and  sufficiently  firm  not  to  obey  im- 
plicitly the  hasty  notions  of  others ;  who  seeks  to  cul- 
tivate the  just  and  manly  feelings  of  the  heart,  and 
to  pursue  truth  in  the  paths  of  science,  must  detach 
himself  from  the  degenerate  crowd,  and  seek  his  en- 
joyments in  retirement.  For  to  those  who  love  te 
consult  their  own  ideas,  to  form  opinions  upon  their 
own  reasonings  and  discernment^  and  to  express  only 
such  sentiments  as  they  really  feel,  a  society  whose 
judgments  are  borrowed,  whose  literature  is  only  spe- 
cious, and  whose  principles  are  unfounded,  must  not 
only  be  irksomely  insipid,  but  morally  dangerous.  The 
firm  and  noble  minded  disdain  to  bow  their  necks  to 
the  slavish  yoke  of  vulgar  prejudice,  and  appeal,  in 
support  of  their  opinions,  to  the  higher  tribunalof  sense 
and  reason,  from  the  partial  and  ill-formed  sentences  of 


168  OF  THE  MOTIVES 

conceited  critics,  who,  destitute  themselves  of  an> 
sterling  merit,  endeavor  to  depreciate  the  value  of  that 
coin  whose  weight  and  purity  render  it  current,  and  to 
substitute  their  own  base  and  varnished  comj>ositions 
in  its  stead.  Those  self-created  who  proudly  place 
themselves  in  the  professor's  chair,  look  with  an  envi- 
ous and  malignant  eye  on  all  the  works  of  genius,  taste. 
and  sense ;  and  as  their  interests  are  intimately  blended 
with  the  destruction  of  every  sublime  and  elegant  pro- 
duction, their  cries  are  raised  against  them  the  moment 
they  appear.  To  blast  the  fame  of  merit  is  their  chief 
object  and  their  highest  joy:  and  their  lives  are  indus- 
triously employed  to  stifle  the  discoveries,  to  impede 
the  advancement,  to  condemn  the  excellency,  and  to 
pervert  the  meaning  of  their  more  ingenious  contem- 
poraries. Like  loathsome  toads,  they  grovel  on  the 
ground,  and,  as  they  move  along,  emit  a  nasty  slime, 
or  frothy  venom,  on  the  sweetest  shrubs  and  fairest 
flowers  of  the  fields. 

From  the  society  of  such  characters,  who  seem  to 
consider  the  noble  productions  of  superior  intellect, 
the  fine  and  vigorous  flights  of  fancy,  the  brilliant  effu- 
sions of  a  sublime  imagination,  and  the  refined  feelings 
of  the  heart,  as  fancied  conceits  or  wild  deliriums, 
those  who  examine  them  by  a  better  standard  than 
that  of  fashion  or  common  taste,  fly  with  delight. 

The  reign  of  envy,  however,  although  it  is  perpetual 
as  to  the  existence  of  the  passion,  is  only  transitorv  as 
to  the  objects  of  its  tyranny  ;  and  the  merit  which  has 
fallen  the  victim  of  its  rage,  is  frequently  raised  by  the 
hand  of  truth,  and  placed  on  the  throne  of  public  ap- 
plause. A  production  of  genius,  however  the  ears  of 
its  author  were  deafened,  during  his  life,  by  the  cla- 
mors of  calumny,  and  hisses  of  ignorance,  is  reviewed 
with  impartiality  when  he  dies,  and  revived  by  the  ac- 
clamations of  ingenuous  applause.  The  reproach 
•which  the  life  of  a  great  and  good  man  is  continually 
casting  on  his  mean  and  degenerate  contemporaries,  is 
silenced  by  his  death.  He  is  remembered  only  in  the 
character  of  his  works;  and  his  fame  increases  with 
the  successive  generations,  which  his  sentiments  and 
opinions  contribute  to  enlighten  and  adorn. 

The  history  of  the  celebrated  English  philosopher, 
David  Hume,  affords,  perhaps,  a  stronger  instance  of 
the  dangers  to  which  wit  and  learning  are  exposed 
from  the  malicious  shafts  of  envy,  ignorance,  and  into- 
lerance, than  that  of  any  other  author.  The  tax  in- 


TO  SOLITUDE.  I6tf 

deed,  is  common  to  authors  of  every  description,  but 
it  frequently  falls  the  heaviest  on  the  highest  heads. 
This  profound  philosopher  and  elegant  historian,  pos- 
sessed a  mild  temper ;  a  lively,  social  disposition  ;  a 
high  sense  of  friendship,  and  incorruptible  integrity. 
His  manners,  indeed,  appeared,  at  first  sight,  cold  and 
repulsive ;  for  he  had  sacrificed  little  to  the  graces :  but 
his  mind  was  invariably  cheerful,  and  his  affections  un- 
commonly warm  and  generous :  and  neither  his  ardent 
desire  of  fame,  nor  the  gross  and  unfounded  calumnies 
of  his  enemies,  were  capable  of  disturbing  the  happy 
tranquillity  of  nis  heart.  His  life  was  passed  in  the 
constant  exercise  of  humanity  and  benevolence;  and 
even  those  who  had  been  seduced,  by  the  jealous  and 
vindictive  artifices  of  others,  wantonly  to  attack  his 
fame  and  character  with  obloquy  and  reproach,  expe- 
rienced his  kindness,  and  acknowledged  his  virtues. 
He  would  never  indeed  confess  that  his  friends  had 
ever  had  occasion  to  vindicate  any  one  circumstance  of 
his  character  or  conduct,  or  that  he  had  ever  been  at- 
tacked either  by  the  baleful  tooth  of  envy,  or  the  rage 
of  civil  or  religious  faction.  His  company,  indeed,  was 
equally  agreeable  to  all  classes  of  society ;  and 
young  and  old,  rich  and  poor,  listened  with  pleasure  to 
his  conversation,  and  quitted  his  company  with  regret; 
for  although  he  was  deeply  learned,  and  his  discourses 
replete  with  sagacity  and  science,  he  had  the  happy  art 
of  delivering  his  sentiments  upon  all  subjects  without 
the  appearance  of  ostentation,  or  in  any  way  offending 
the  feelings  of  his  hearers. 

The  interests  of  religion  are  said  to  have  suffered  by 
the  abuse  of  his  talents ;  but  the  precepts  of  Christiani- 
ty were  never  more  powerfully  recommended,  than  by 
the  integrity  of  his  morals,  and  the  purity  of  his  life. 
His  benign  and  gentle  spirit,  attached  to  virtue,  and 
averse  from  every  species  of  vice,  essentially  promoted 
the  practice  of  piety,  and  the  duties  of  a  religious  mind ; 
and  did  not,  as  is  always  the  case  with  the  zeal  of  per- 
secution and  martyrdom,  tear  away  the  very  founda- 
tion of  that  fabric  which  it  pretends  to  support.  The 
excellency,  indeed,  both  of  the  head  and  the  heart  of 
this  great  and  good  man,  enabled  him  not  only  to  en- 
joy himself  with  perfect  felicity,  but  to  contribute  to 
the  improvement,  and  increase  the  happiness  of  man- 
kind. This  is  the  opinion  now  generally  entertained 
of  the  character  of  Hume ;  but  far  different  were  the 
sentiments  of  his  contemporaries  upon  this  subject.  It 


170  OF  THE   MOTIVES 

vras  neither  in  a  barbarous  country,  or  in  an  unenlight- 
ened  a°re,  that  he  lived ;  but  although  the  land  was 
free,  the  people  philosophical,  and  the  spirit  of  the 
times  provoked  the  minds  of  learned  men  to  metaphy- 
sical inquiry,  the  fame  of  Hume  was  wrecked  upon  his 
moral  and  religious  writings.  He  was  charged  with 
being  a  sceptic ;  but  from  the  propagation  of  -certain 
doctrines,  and  the  freedom  of  inquiry  which  had  then 
gone  forth,  it  is  impossible  to  attribute  his  disappoint- 
ments to  this  cause.  A  kind  of  natural  prejudice,  in- 
deed, prevailed  in  England  at  this  period  against  the 
Scots ;  but  as  he  did  not  experience  much  favor  from 
his  own  countrymen,  no  conclusion  can  be  fairly 
drawn  from  this  circumstance ;  and  the  extraordinary 
History  of  his  Literary  Transactions,  a  work  written 
by  himself,  cannot  be  perused  without  an  equal  degree 
of  surprise  and  concern.  The  contemptuous  repulses 
which  his  several  compositions  received  from  the  pub- 
lic, appear  incredible  ;  but  the  facts  he  relates  are  un- 
doubtedly authentic  ;  and  while  they  raise  a  sorrowful 
regret  for  the  fate  of  Hume  in  particular,  they  most 
unhappily  tend  to  diminish  the  ardor  of  the  student, 
who  contemplates  the  various  dangers  to  which  his 
desire  of  fame  may  be  exposed,  and  may,  perhaps,  in- 
duce him  to  quit  the  pursuit  of  an  object  "  so  hard  to 
gain,  so  easy  to  be  lost." 

The  melancholy  history  of  the  literary  career  of  the 
celebrated  Hume,  as  appears  from  the  short  sketch  he 
made  of  ftis  own  life,  while  he  calmly  waited,  under 
an  incurable  disorder,  the  moment  of  approaching  dis 
solution ;  a  work  which  proclaims  the  mildness,  the 
modesty,  and  the  resignation  of  his  temper,  as  clearly 
as  his  other  works  demonstrate  the  power  and  extent 
of  his  mind.  The  history,  indeed,  of  every  man  who 
attempts  to  destroy  the  reigning  prejudices,  or  correct 
the  prevailing  errors,  of  his  age  and  country,  is  nearly 
the  same.  He  who  has  the  happiness  to  see  objects  of 
any  description  with  greater  perspicuity  than  his  con- 
temporaries, and  presumes  to  disseminate  his  superior 
knowledge,  by  the  unreserved  publication  of  his  opi 
nions,  sets  himself  up  as  a  common  mark  for  the  shafts 
of  envy  and  resentment  to  pierce,  and  seldom  escapes 
from  being  charged  with  wicked  designs  against  the 
interests  o7  mankind.  A  writer,  whatever  his  charac- 
ter, station,  or  talents  may  be,  will  find  that  he  has  a 
host  of  malevolent  inferiors  ready  to  sieze  every  oppor- 
tunity of  gratifying  their  humbled  pride,  by  attempting 


*TO   SOLITUDE.  171 

to  level  his  superior  merits,  and  subdue  his  rising  fame. 
Even  the  compassionate  few,  who  are  ever  ready  to 
furnish  food  to  the  hungry,  clothing  to  the  naked,  and 
consolation  to  the  afflicted,  seldom  feel  any  other  sen- 
sation than  that  of  jealousy  on  beholding  th'e  wreath  ol 
merit  placed  on  the  brow  of  a  deserving  rival.  The 
Ephesians,  with  republican  pride,  being  unable  to  en- 
dure the  reproach  which  they  felt  from  the  pre- 
eminency  of  any  individual,  banished  to  some  other 
state,  the  citizen  who  presumed  to  excel  the  generality 
of  his  countrymen.  It  would  be,  in  some  measure, 
adopting  this  egregious  and  tyrannical  folly,  were  I  to 
exhort  the  man  whose  merits  transcend  those  who  are 
his  ecjuals  in  rank,  or  station,  to  break  off  all  inter- 
course and  connexion  with  them ;  but  1  am  certain 
that  he  might,  by  an  occasional  retirement,  elude  the 
effects  of  their  envy,  and  avoid  those  provocations  to 
which,  by  his  superiority,  he  will  otherwise  be  continu- 
ally exposed. 

To  treat  the  frailties  of  our  fellow  creatures  with 
tenderness,  to  correct  their  errors  with  kindness,  to 
view  even  their  vices  with  pity,  and  to  induce,  by  every 
friendly  attention,  a  mutual  complacency  and  good 
will,  is  not  only  an  important  moral  duty,  but  a  means 
of  increasing  the  sum  of  earthly  happiness.  It  is,  in- 
deed, difficult  to  prevent  an  honest  mind  from  bursting 
forth  with  generous  indignation  against  those  artful 
hypocrites  who,  by  specious  and  plausible  practices, 
obtain  the  false  character  of  being  wise  and  good,  and 
obtrude  their  flimsy  and  heterodox  opinions  upon  the 
unthinking  W9rld,  as  the  fair  and  genuine  sentiments 
of  truth  and  virtue.  The  anger  which  arises  in  a  ge- 
nerous and  ardent  rnind,  on  hearing  a  noble  action 
calumniated,  or  a  useful  work  illiberally  attacked,  is 
not  easily  restrained  ;  but  such  feelings  should  be 
checked  and  regulated  with  a  greater  degree  of  cau- 
tion than  even  if  they  were  less  virtuous  and  praise- 
worthy ;  for,  if  they  are  indulged  with  frequency,  their 
natural  violence  may  weaken  the  common  charities  ot 
the  mind,  and  convert  its  very  goodness  and  love  of 
virtue  into  a  mournful  misanthropy,  or  virulent  detes- 
tation of  mankind. 

Let  not  the  man,  whose  exalted  mind,  improved  by 
study  and  observation,  surveys  with  a  discriminating 
eye  the  moral  depravities  and  mental  weaknesses  of  hu- 
man nature,  submit  to  treat  his  envious  inferiors  with 
inveterate  anger,  and  undistinguishing  revenge,  Their 


ITZ  OF  THE  MOTIVES 

envy  as  a  tribute  of  approbation  to  his  greatness.  Let 
him  look  with  the  gentle  eye  of  pity  upon  those  who 
err  rather  from  the  wicked  suggestions  of  others,  than 
from  the  malevolence  of  their  own  hearts:  let  him  not 
confound  the  weak  and  innocent  reptile  with  the  scor- 
pion and  the  viper;  let  him  listen,  without  emotion,  to 
the  malignant  barking  and  envious  hissings  that  every 
where  attend  the  footsteps  of  transcendent  merit ;  let 
him  disregard,  with  philosophic  dignity,  the  senseless 
clamors  of  those  noisy  adversaries  who  are  blinded  by 
prejudice,  and  deaf  to  the  arguments  of  sense  and  rea- 
son :  let  him  rather,  by  a  mild  and  forbearing  temper, 
endeavor  to  make  some  impression  on  their  hearts ;  and 
if  he  should  find  their  bosoms  susceptible,  he  may  hope 
in  time  to  convince  them  of  their  errors,  and,  without 
violence  or  compulsion,  bring  back  their  deluded  un- 
derstandings to  a  sense  of  truth,  and  the  practice  of 
virtue ;  but,  if  experience  convince  him  that  every  en- 
deavor to  reform  them  is  fruitless  and  vain,  let  him— 

Neglect  the  grumblers  of  an  envious  age, 
Vapid  in  spleen,  or  brisk  in  frothy  rage ; 
Critics,  who,  ere  they  understand,  defame  ; 
And  seeming  friends  who  only  do  not  blame , 
And  puppet  prattlers,  whose  unconscious  throat 
Transmits  what  the  pert  witling  prompts  by  rote : 
Let  him  neglect  this  blind  and  babbling  crowd, 
To  enjoy  the  favor  of  the  wise  and  good. 

Slander,  however,  by  fixing  her  talons  on  the  most 
virtuous  characters,  generally  defeats  her  own  malice, 
and  proclaims  their  merit.  It  may,  indeed,  tend  to  di- 
minish their  inclination  for  general  society,  and  to  ren- 
der them,  in  some  degree,  apprehensive  of  the  danger 
of  even  well  deserved  fame.  "Durable  fame,"  says 
Petrarch,  "  is  only  to  be  derived  from  the  practice  of 
virtue,  and  from  such  works  as  are  worthy  of  descend- 
ing from  generation  to  generation.  As  to  praters, 
gowned  gentlemen,  that  walk  in  their  silks,  glitter  in 
their  jewels,  and  are  pointed  at  by  the  people,  all  their 
bravery  and  pomp,  their  show  of  knowledge,  and  their 
thundering  speeches,  last  only  with  their  lungs,  and 
then  vanish  into  thin  smoke;  for  the  acquisition  of 
wealth,  and  the  desires  of  ambition,  are  no  witnesses 
of  true  desert.  I  think  I  shall  have  fame  after  my 
death ;  and  that  is  a  fame  from  which  no  profit  is  de- 
rived; but,  on  the  contrary,  frequently  injures,  while 
alive,  the  person  who  is  to  enjoy  it  when  dead.  What 


TO  SOLITUDE.  173 

procured  the  destruction  of  Cicero,  Demosthenes,  and 
Zeno,  but  foul  and  haggard  envy  01  their  fame  ?  What 
brought  the  chosen  men  of  the  great  ship  Argos  to 
Colchis,  but  the  fame  of  that  king's  riches  1  For  what 
else  was  signified  by  the  Golden  Tleece,  but  the  riches 
seized  by  these  marauders,  destitute  of  true  riches, 
and  who  were  clad  with  fleeces  not  their  own '!"  Many, 
indeed,  whose  merits  have  cast  a  radiance  around  their 
characters,  have  hidden  its  splendors  with  the  shades 
of  retirement  to  avoid  giving  uneasiness  to  envy ;  and, 
by  being  deprived  of  that  warm  and  aspiring  tribute  of 
applause  which  they  had  gloriously  and  justly  earned, 
have,  in  some  instances  at  least,  indulged  too  keen  a 
sense  of  the  depravity  of  mankind.  Solon,  after  hav- 
ing in  vain  exhorted  the  Athenians  to  resist  the  tyranny 
of  Pisistratus,  and  save  the  liberties  of  that  country,  on 
which  he  had  conferred  such  distinguished  services, 
returned  to  his  own  house,  and  placing  his  weapons  at 
the  street  door,  exclaimed,  as  a  last  effort,  "  1  have  done 
all  in  iinj  power  to  save  my  country  and  defend  its 
laws!"  and  then  retired  from  the  tumults  of  public  life, 
to  weep  in  silence  over  the  servility  of  the  Athenians, 
and  the  fate  of  Athens.  History  affords  many  illustri- 
ous instances,  both  ancient  and  modern,  of  the  like 
kind  :  for  there  never  was  a  statesman,  who  possessed 
a  great  mind  and  manly  feelings,  that  did  not,  even 
during  the  plentitude  of  his  power,  occasionally  wish 
to  escape  from  the  incorrigible  vices  which  prevail  in 
courts,  to  the  enjoyment~of  the  more  innocent  plea- 
sures and  humble  virtues  which  surround  the  cottage. 
Such  exalted  characters  cannot  observe,  without  the 
highest  disgust,  and  keenest  indignation,  the  virtues  of 
the  best,  and  the  services  of  the  bravest  men  of  the 
nation,  blasted  by  the  envious  breath  of  brainless  place- 
men, or  the  insidious  insinuations  of  female  favorites, 
whose  whole  time  is  employed  in  caressing  their  mon- 
kies  and  paroquets,  or  in  aspersing  the  merits  of  those 
who  boldly  seek  their  fortune  by  the  open  and  manly 
road  of  true  desert,  and  not  by  the  deep,  dark,  and 
crooked  paths  of  flattery  and  intrigue.  Can  such  a 
man  behold  the  double  dealing  anoTdeceitful  artifices 
by  which  the  excellency  of  princes  is  corrupted,  their 
imaginations  dazzled,  their  discernment  blinded,  and 
their  minds  led  astray  without  feeling  uncommon  in- 
dignation '?  Certainly  not.  But  however  acutely  his 
bosom  may  feel,  or  tongue  express  his  sense  of  such 
prevailing  practices,  he  "must  still  be  forced  to  see, 
15* 


174  OF  THE  MOTIVES 

with  even  a  more  contemptuous  and  painful  sensation, 
that  envious  rage  and  jealous  asperity,  which  burst  from 
the  cringing  crowd  of  mean  and  abject  courtiers,  on 
hearing  the  monarch,  in  the  grateful  feelings  of  his 
heart,  applaud  the  eminent  and  faithful  services  of 
some  gallant  officer.  Dion  was  the  principal  states- 
man at  the  court,  of  Dionysius,  and  the  deliverer  of 
Sicily.  When  the  younger  Dionysius  succeeded  to  the 
throne  of  his  father,  Dion,  in  the  first  council  that  he 
held,  spoke  with  so  much  propriety  on  the  existing 
state  of  affairs,  and  on  the  measures  which  ought  to 
be  taken,  that  the  surrounding  courtiers  appeared  to  be 
mere  children  in  comparison.  By  the  freedom  of  his 
counsels  he  exposed,  in  a  strong  light,  the  slavish 
principles  of  those  who,  through  a  timorous  disinge- 
nuity,  advised  such  measures  as  they  thought  would 

K lease  their  prince,  rather  than  such  as  might  advance 
is  interest.  But  what  alarmed  them  most,  were  the 
steps  he  proposed  to  take  with  regard  to  the  impending 
war  with  Carthage;  for  he  offered  either  to  go  in  per- 
son to  Carthage,  and  settle  an  honorable  peace  with 
the  CarthagenianSj  or,  if  war  should  be  inevitable,  to 
fit  out  and  maintain  fifty  gallies  at  his  own  expense. 
Dionysius  was  pleased  'with  the  magnificence  of  his 
spirit ;  but  his  courtiers  felt  that  it  made  them  appear 
little ;  and  agreeing  that,  at  all  events,  Dion  was  to  be 
crushed,  they  spared  for  that  purpose  no  calumny  that 
malice  could  suggest.  They  represented  to  the  king 
that  this  favorite~certainly  meant  to  make  himself  mas- 
ter by  sea,  and  by  that  means  to  obtain  the  kingdom 
for  his  sister's  children.  There  was,  moreover,  another 
and  obvious  cause  of  their  hatred  to  him,  in  the  reserve 
of  his  manners,  and  the  sobriety  of  his  life.  They  led 
the  young  and  ill-educated  king  through  every  species 
uf  debauchery,  and  vyere  the  shameless  panders  of  his 
wrong  directed  passions.  Their  enmity  to  Dion,  who 
had  no  taste  for  luxurious  enjoyments,  was  a  thing  of 
course ;  and  as  he  refused  \o  partake  with  them  in 
their  vices,  they  resolved  to  strip  him  of  his  virtues ;  to 
which  they  gave  the  name  of  such  vices  as  are  sup- 
posed to  resemble  them.  His  gravity  of  manners  they 
called  pride ;  his  freedom  of  speech,  insolence ;  his  de- 
clining to  join  in  their  licentiousness,  contempt.  It  is 
true,  there  was  a  natural  haughtiness  in  his  deportment 
and  an  asperity  that  was  unsociable,  and  difficult  of  ac- 
cess ;  so  that  it  was  not  to  be  wondered  at  if  he  found 
no  ready  admission  to  the  ears  of  a  young  king,  alrea-, 


TO   SOLITUDE.  175 

dy  spoiled  by  flattery.  Willing  to  impute  the  irregula- 
rities of  Dionysius  to  ignorance  and  bad  education. 
Dion  endeavored  to  engage  him  in  a  course  of  liberal 
studies,  and  to  give  him  a  taste  for  those  sciences  which 
have  a  tendency  to  moral  improvement.  But  in  this 
wise  and  virtuous  resolution  he  was  opposed  by  all  the 
artifices  of  court  intrigue. 

Men,  in  proportion  as  their  minds  are  dignified  with 
noble  sentiments,  and  their  hearts  susceptible  of  refined 
sensibility,  feel  a  justifiable  aversion  to  the  society  of 
such  characters,  and  shrink  from  the  scenes  they  fre- 
quent '}  but  they  should  cautiously  guard  against  the 
intrusions  of  that  austerity  and  moroseness  with  which 
such  a  conduct  is  but  too  apt  to  inspire  the  most  bene- 
volent minds.  Disgusted  by  the  vices  and  follies  ot 
the  age.  the  mind  becomes  insensibly  impressed  with 
a  hatred  toward  the  species,  and  loses,  by  degrees,  that 
mild  and  humane  temper  which  is  so  indispensably  ne- 
cessary to  the  enjoyment  of  social  happiness.  Even  he 
who  merely  observes  the  weak  or  vicious  frailties  of 
his  fellow  creatures  with  an  intention  to  study  philoso- 
phically the  nature  and  disposition  of  man,  cannot 
avoid  remembering  their  defects  with  severity,  and 
viewing  the  character  he  contemplates  with  contempt, 
especially  if  he  happens  to  be  the  object  of  their  arti- 
fices, and  the  dupe  of  their  villanies.  Contempt  is  close- 
ly allied  with  hatred  \  and  hatred  of  mankind  will  cor- 
rupt, in  time,  the  fairest  mind :  it  tinges,  by  degrees, 
every  object  with  the  bile  of  misanthropy  ;  perverts  the 
judgment ;  and  at  length  looks  indiscriminately  with 
an  evil  eye  on  the  gooa  and  bad,  engenders  suspicion, 
fear,  jealousy,  revenge,  and  all  the  black  catalogue  of 
unworthy  and  malignant  passions :  and  when  these 
dreadful  enemies  have  extirpated  every  generous  sen- 
timent from  the  breast,  the  unhappv  victim  abhors  so- 
ciety, disclaims  his  species,  sighs,  like  St.  Hyacinth,  for 
some  distant  and  secluded  island,  and  with  savage  bar- 
barity, defends  the  inviolability  of  its  boundaries  by 
the  cruel  repulsion,  and,  perhaps,  the  death  of  those 
unhappy  mortals  whom  misfortune  may  drive,  hapless 
and  unpitied,  to  its  inhospitable  shores. 

But  if  misanthropy  be  capable  of  producing  such 
direful  effects  on  well  disposed  minds,  how  shocking 
must  be  the  character  whose  disposition,  naturally  ran- 
corous, is  heightened  and  inflamed  by  an  habitual  ha- 
tred and  malignancy  toward  his  fellow  creatures !  In 
Swisserland,  I  once  beheld  a  monster  of  this  descrip. 


176  OF  THE  MOTIVES. 

tion  ;  I  was  compelled  to  visit  him  by  the  duties  of  my 
profession  ;  but  1  shudder  while  I  recollect  the  enormi- 
ty of  his  character.  His  body  was  almost  as  deformed 
as  his  mind.  Enmity  was  seated  on  his  distorted  brow. 
Scales  of  livid  incrustation,  the  joint  produce  of  his 
corrupted  body  and  distempered  mind,  covered  his 
face.  His  horrid  figure  made  me  fancy  that  I  saw 
Medusa's  serpents  wreathing  their  baleful  folds  among 
the  black  and  matted  locks  of  his  dishevelled  hair; 
"while  his  red  and  fiery  eyes  glared  like  malignant  me- 
teors through  the  obscurity  of  his  impending  eye- brows. 
Mischief  was  his  sole  delight,  his  greatest  luxury,  and 
his  highest  joy.  To  sow  discord  among  his  neighbors, 
and  to  tear  open  the  closing  wounds  of  misery,  was 
his  only  occupation.  His  residence  was  the  resort  of 
the  disorderly,  the  recentacle  of  the  vicious,  and  the 
asylum  of  the  guilty.  Collecting  around  him  the  tur- 
bulent and  discontented  of  every  description,  he  be- 
came the  patron  of  injustice,  the  protector  of  villany, 
the  perpetrator  of  malice,  the  inventer  of  fraud,  the 
propagator  of  calumny,  and  the  zealous  champion  of 
cruelty  and  revenge;  directing,  with  malignant  aim, 
the  barbed  shafts  of  his  adherents  equally  against  the 
comforts  of  private  peace  and  the  blessings  of  public 
tranquillity.  The  bent  and  inclination  of  his  nature 
had  been  so  aggravated  and  confirmed  by  the  "  multi- 
plying villanies  of  his  life,"  that  it  was  impossible  for 
him  to  refrain  one  moment  from  the  practice  of  them, 
without  feeling  uneasiness  and  discontent;  and  he 
never  appeared  perfectly  happy,  but  when  new  oppor- 
tunities occurred  to  glut  his  infernal  soul  with  the 
spectacle  of  human  miseries. 

The  Timon  of  Lucian  was  in  some  measure  excusa- 
ble for  his  excessive  hatred  to  mankind,  by  the  unparal- 
lelled  wrong0  they  had  heaped  upon  him.  The  inexo- 
rable antipathy  he  entertained  against  the  species  had 
been  provoked  by  injuries  almost  too  great  for  the 
common  fortitude  of  humanity  to  endure.  His  probity 
humanity,  and  charity  to  the  poor,  had  been  the  ruin 
of  him ;  or  rather  his  own  folly,  easiness  of  disposition, 
and  want  of  judgment  in  his  choice  of  friends.  He 
never  discovered  that  he  was  giving  away  his  all  to 
wolves  and  ravens.  Whilst  these  vultures  were  prey- 
ing on  his  liver,  he  thought  them  his  best  friends,  and 
that  they  fed  upon  him  out  of  pure  love  and  affection. 
After  they  had  gnawed  him  all  round,  ate  his  bones 
bare,  and  whilst  there  was  any  marrow  in  them,  suck' 


TO  SOLITUDE.  177 

ed  it  carefully  out,  they  left  him  cut  down  to  the  roots 
and  \yithered ;  and  so  far  from  relieving  him,  or  assist- 
ing him  in  their  turns,  would  not  so  much  as  know  or 
look  upon  him.  This  made  him  turn  a  common  labor- 
er ;  and,  dressed  in  his  skin  garment  he  tilled  the  earth 
for  hire:  ashamed  to  show  himself  in  the  city,  and 
venting  his  rage  against  the  ingratitude  of  those  who, 
enriched,  as  they  had  been  by  him  now  proudly  pass- 
ed along  without  noticing  him.  But  although  such  a 
character  is  not  to  be  despised  or  neglected,  no  provo- 
cation, however  great  can  justify  the  violent  and  exces- 
sive invectives  wnich  he  profanely  bellowed  forth  from 
the  bottom  of  Hymettus ;  "  this  spot  of  earth  shall  be 
my  only  habitation  while  I  live ;  and  when  I  am  dead, 
my  sepulchre.  From  this  time  forth,  it  is  my  fixed  re- 
solution to  have  no  commerce  or  connexion  with  man- 
kind ;  but  to  despise  them,  and  avoid  it.  I  will  pay  no 
regard  to  acquaintance,  friendship,  pity  or  compassion. 
To  pity  the  distressed,  or  to  relieve  the  indigent,  I 
shall  consider  as  a  weakness,  nay,  as  a  crime  ;  my  life, 
like  that  of  the  beasts  of  the  field,  shall  be  spent  in  soli- 
tude; and  Timon  alone  shall  be  Timon's  friend.  I 
will  treat  all  beside  as  enemies  and  betrayers.  To  con- 
verse with  them  were  profanation !  to  herd  with  them 
impiety.  Accursed  be  the  day  that  brings  them  to  my 
sight !  I  will  look  upon  men,  in  short,  as  no  more 
than  so  many  statues  of  brass  or  stone  :  will  make  no 
truce,  have  no  connexion  with  them.  My  retreat  shall 
be  the  boundary  to  separate  us  for  ever.  Relations, 
friends,  and  country,  are  empty  names,  respected  by 
fools  alone.  Let  Timon  only  be  rich  and  despise  all 
the  world  beside.  Abhorring  idle  praise,  and  odious 
flattery,  he  shall  be  delighted  with  himself  alone. 
Alone  shall  he  sacrifice  to  the  gods,  feast  alone,  be 
his  own  neighbor,  and  his  own  companion.  I  am  de- 
termined to  ue  alone  for  life  ;  and  when  I  die,  to  place 
the  crown  upon  my  own  head.  The  fairest  name  I 
would  be  distinguished  by  is  that  of  a  misanthrope. 
I  would  be  known  and  marked  out  by  my  asperity  of 
manners ;  by  moroseness,  cruelty,  anger,  and  inhu- 
manity. Were  I  to  see  a  man  perishing  in  the  flames, 
and  imploring  me  to  extinguish  them,  1  would  throw 
pitch  or  oil  into  the  fire  to  increase  it ;  or,  if  the  winter 
flood  should  overwhelm  another,  who,  with  out-stretch- 
ed hands  should  beg  me  to  assist  him,  I  would  plunge 
him  still  deeper  in  the  stream,  that  he  might  never  rise 
again.  Thus  shall  I  be  revenged  of  mankind.  Thia 


178  OF  THE  MOTIVES 

is  Timon's  law,  and  this  hath  Timon  ratified.  I  should 
be  glad,  however,  that  all  might  know  how  I  abound 
in  riches,  because  that  1  know  will  make  them  misera- 
ble." 

The  moral  to  be  drawn  from  this  dialogue  of  the  ce- 
lebrated Grecian  philosopher,  is  the  extreme  dang-er  to 
which  the  best  and  most  benevolent  characters  may  be 
exposed,  by  an  indiscreet  and  unchecked  indulgence  of 
those  painful  feelings  with  which  the  baseness  and  in- 
gratitude of  the  world  are  apt  to  wound  the  heart. 
There  are,  however,  those  who,  without  having  re- 
ceived ill  treatment  from  the  world,  foster  in  their  bo- 
soms a  splenetic  animosity  against  society,  and  secretly 
exult  in  the  miseries  and  misfortunes  of  their  fellow 
creatures.  Indulging  themselves  in  the  indolent  habits 
of  vice  and  vanity,  and  feeling  a  mortification  in  being 
disappointed  of  those  rewards  which  virtuous  industry 
can  alone  bestow,  they  seek  a  gloomy  solitude  to  hide 
them  from  those  lights  which  equally  discover  the 
errors  of  vice  and  the  rectitude  of  virtue.  Unable  to 
attain  glory  for  themselves,  and  incapable  of  enduring 
the  lustre  of  it  in  others,  they  creep  into  discontented 
retirement,  from  which  they  only  emerge  to  envy  the 
satisfaction  which  accompanies  real  merit,  to  calumni- 
ate the  character  to  which  it  belongs  ;  and.  like  satan, 
on  the  view  of  paradise,  to  " see  undelignted  all  de- 
light." 

There  are,  however,  a  class  of  a  very  different  de- 
scription, who,  unoppressed  by  moody  melancholy,  un- 
tinctured  by  petulance  or  spleen,  free  from  resentment, 
and  replete  with  every  generous  thought  and  manly 
sentiment,  calmly  and  contentedly  retire  from  society, 
to  enjoy,  uninterruptedly,  a  happy  communion  with 
those  high  and  enlightened  minds,  who  have  adorned 
by  their  actions  the  page  of  history,  enlarged  by  their 
talents  the  powers  of  the  human  mind,  and  increased 
by  their  virtues  the  happiness  of  mankind. 

Retirement,  however  solitary  it  may  be,  when  enter- 
ed into  with  such  a  temper  of  mind,  instead  of  creating 
or  encouraging  any  hatred  toward  the  species,  raises  our 
ideas  of  the  possible  dignity  of  human  nature ;  disposes 
our  hearts  to  feel,  and  our  hands  to  relieve,  the  misfor- 
tunes and  necessities  of  our  fellow  crentures:  rails  to 
our  minds  what  high  capacious  powers  lie  folded  HP  in 
man;  and  giving  to  every  part  of  creation  its  finest 
forms,  and  richest  colors,  exhibits  to  our  aamirntion 
Jts  brightest  glories  and  highest  perfections,  uud  n- 


TO  SOLITUDE.  179 

duces  us  to  transplant  the  charm  which  exists  in  our 
own  bosoms  into  the  bosoms  of  others. 

The  spacious  west, 

And  all  the  teeming  regions  of  the  .south, 

Hold  not  a  quarry,~to  the  curious  flight 

Of  knowledge,  half  so  tempting,  or  so  fair, 

As  man  to  man  :  nor  only  where  the  smiles 

Of  love  invite  ;  nor  only  where  the  applause 

Of  cordial  honor  turns  the  attentive  eye 

On  virtue's  graceful  deeds  ;  for  since  the  course 

Of  things  external  acts  in  different  ways 

On  human  apprehension,  as  the  hand 

Of  nature  tempered  to  a  different  frame 

Peculiar  minds,  so  haply  where  the  powers 

Of  fancy  neither  lessen  nor  enlarge 

The  images  of  things,  but  paint,  in  all 

Their  genuine  hues,  the  features  which  they  wear 

In  nature,  there  opinions  will  be  true, 

And  action  right 

A  rational  solitude,  while  it  corrects  the  passions,  im-> 
proves  the  benevolent  dispositions  of  the  heart,  increases 
the  energies  of  the  mind,  and  draws  forth  its  latent 
powers.  The  Athenian  orator,  Callistratus,  was  to 
plead  in  the  cause  which  the  city  of  Oropus  had  de- 
pending ;  and  the  expectation  of  the  public  was  greatly 
raised,  both  by  the  powers  of  the  orator,  which  were 
then  in  the  highest  repute,  and  the  importance  of  the 
trial.  Demosthenes,  hearing  the  governors  and  tutors 
agree  among  themselves  to  attend  the  trial,  with  much 
importunity  prevailed  on  his  master  to  take  him  to  hear 
the  pleaders.  The  master  having  some  acquaintance 
with  the  officer  who  opened  the  court,  got  his  young 
pupil  a  seat  where  he  could  hear  the  orators  without 
being  seen.  Callistratus  had  great  success,  and  his 
abilities  were  extremely  admired.  Demosthenes  was 
fired  with  the  spirit  of  emulation.  When  he  saw  with 
what  distinction  the  orator  was  conducted  home,  and 
complimented  by  the  people,  he  was  struck  still  more 
with  the  power  of  that  commanding  eloquence  which 
would  carry  all  before  it.  From  this  time,  therefore, 
he  bade  adieu  to  the  other  studies  and  exercises  in 
Which  boys  are  engaged,  and  applied  himself  with  great 
assiduity  to  declaiming,  in  hope  of  being  one  day  num- 
bered among  the  orators.  Satyrus,  the  player  who  was 
an  acquaintance  of  his,  and  to  whom  he  lamented, 
after  having  been  for  some  time  called  to  the  bar,  "that 
though  he  had  almost  sacrificed  his  health  to  his  stu- 
dies, he  could  gain  no  favor  with  the  people,"  promised 


180  OP  THE  MOTIVES 

to  provide  him  with  a  remedy,  if  he  would  repeat  some 
speech  in  Euripides  or  Sophocles.  When  Demosthenes 
had  finished  his  recitation,  Satyrus  pronounced  the 
same  speech  ;  and  he  did  it  with  such  propriety  of  ac- 
tion, and  so  much  in  character,  that  it  appeared  to  the 
orator  quite  a  different  passage  ;  and  Demosthenes  now 
understanding  how  much  grace  and  dignity  of  action 
adds  to  the  best  oration,  quitted  the  practice  of  compo- 
sition, and,  building  a  subterraneous  study  repaired 
thither,  for  two  or  three  months  together,  to  form  his 
action,  and  exercise  his  voice;  and,  by  this  means 
formed  that  strong,  impassioned,  and  irresistible  elo- 
quence, which  rendered  him  the  glory  of  Athens,  and 
trie  admiration  of  the  world.  Most  of  the  exalted  he- 
roes, both  of  Greece  and  Rome,  who  devoted  their  at- 
tention to  arts  and  to  arms,  acquired  their  chief  excel- 
lency in  their  respective  pursuits,  by  retiring  from 
public  observation,  and  cultivating  their  talents  in  the 
silence  of  solitude.  St.  Jerome,  the  most  learned  of 
all  the  Latin  fathers,  and  son  of  the  celebrated  Euse- 
bius,  retired  from  the  persecution  of  religious  fury  into 
an  obscure  and  dreary  desert  in  Syria,  where  he  attain- 
ed that  rich,  animated,  and  sublime  style  of  eloquence, 
which  afterward  so  essentially  contributed  to  support 
the  rising  church,  and  to  enlighten  while  it  dazzled  the 
Christian  world.  The  Druids,  or  ministers  of  religion 
among  the  ancient  Gauls,  Britons,  and  Germans,  re- 
tired, in  the  intervals  of  their  sacred  functions,  into 
awful  forests  and  consecrated  groves,  where  they  pass- 
ed their  time  in  useful  study  and  pious  prayers  ;  and 
while  they  acquired  a  complete  knowledge  of  astrolo- 
gy, geometry,  natural  philosophy,  politics,  geography, 
morals,  and  religion,  rendered  themselves  nappy  ana 
revered,  and  produced,  by  the  wise  instruction  they 
were  capable  of  affording  to  others,  but  particularly  to 
youth,  whose  education  they  superintended,  a  bright 
succession  of  priests,  legislators,  counsellors,  judges, 
physicians,  philosophers,  and  tutors,  to  the  respective 
nations  in  which  tney  resided. 

The  modern  Julian,  the  justly  celebrated  Frederic, 
king  of  Prussia,  derives  the  highest  advantages  from 
his  disguised  retirement  at  Sans  Souci.  where  he  con- 
trives the  means  of  hurling  inevitable  destruction 
against  the  enemies  of  his  country ;  listens  to  and  relieves 
with  all  the  anxiety  of  a  tender  parent,  the  complaints 
and  injuries  of  his  meanest  subjects ;  and  recreates  his 
excursive  mind,  by  revising  and  correcting  his  immor- 


tO  SOLlTtDB.  181 

tal  works  for  the  admiration  of  posterity.  Philosophy, 
poetry,  and  politics,  are  the  successive  objects  or  his 
attention  ;  and  while  he  extends  his  views,  and 
strengthens  his  understanding,  by  the  study  of  ancient 
wisdom,  he  meliorates  his  heart  by  the  delightful  offer- 
ings of  the  muses,  and  increases  the  public  strength  by 
the  wise  and  economical  management  of  his  resources. 
An  awful  silence,  interrupted  only  by  gentle  airs  with 
which  it  is  refreshed,  pervades  this  delightful  retreat. 
It  was  during  the  twilight  of  an  autumnal  evening  that 
I  visited  this  solemn  scene.  As  I  approached  the 
apartment  of  this  philosophic  hero,  I  discovered  him 
sitting,  "  nobly  pensive,"  near  a  small  table,  from  which 
shone  the  feeble  rays  of  a  common  taper.  No  jealous 
sentinels,  or  ceremonious  chamberlain,  impeded  my 
progress  by  scrutinizing  inquiries  of  suspicion  and 
mistrust ;  and  I  walked  free  and  unchecked,  except  by 
respect  and  veneration,  through  the  humble  unostenta- 
tious retreat  of  this  extraordinary  man.  All  charac- 
ters, however  high  and  illustrious  they  may  be,  who 
wish  to  attain  a  comprehensive  view  of  things,  and  to 
shine  in  the  highest  spheres  of  virtue,  must  learn  the 
rudiments  of  glory  under  the  discipline  of  occasional 
retirement. 

Solitude  is  frequently  sought  from  an  inclination  to 
extend  the  knowledge  of  our  talents  and  characters  to 
those  with  whom  we  have  no  opportunity  of  being  im- 
mediately acquainted  ;  by  preparing  with  greater  care, 
and  closer  application,  for  the  inspection  of  our  con- 
temporaries, works  worthy  of  the  fame  we  are  so  anx- 
ious to  acquire :  but  it  seldom  happens,  alas  !  that  those 
whose  labors  are  most  pregnant  with  instruction  and 
delight,  have  received,  from  the  age  or  country  in 
which  they  lived,  or  even  from  the  companions  with 
whom  they  associated,  the  tribute  of  kindness  or  ap- 
plause that  is  justly  due  to  their  merits.  The  work 
which  is  stigmatized  and  traduced  by  the  envy,  igno- 
rance, or  local  prejudices  of  a  country,  for  whose  de- 
light and  instruction  it  was  particularly  intended,  fre- 
quently receives  from  the  generous  suffrages  of  impar- 
tial and  unprejudiced  strangers,  the  highest  tribute  of 
applause.  Even  those  pretended  friends,  under  whose 
auspices  it  was  at  first  undertaken,  upon  whose  advice 
it  proceeded,  and  upon  whose  judgment  it  was  at 
length  published,  no  sooner  hear  its  praises  resounded 
from  distant  quarters,  than  they  permit  the  poisoned 
shafts  of  calumny  to  fly  unaverted  around  the  unsu»- 
16 


183  OF  THE  MOTIVES 

pectin*  author,  and  warrant,  by  their  silence,  or  assist, 
by  their  sneers,  every  insidious  insinuation  against  his 
motives  or  his  principles.  This  species  of  malevolence 
has  been  feelingly  painted  by  the  celebrated  Petrarch. 
"  No  sooner  had  my  fame,"  says  he,  "  risen  above  the 
level  of  that  which  my  contemporaries  had  acquired, 
than  every  tongue  babbled,  and  every  pen  was  bran- 
dished against  me :  those  who  had  before  appeared  to 
be  my  dearest  friends,  instantly  became  my  deadliest 
enemies :  the  shafts  of  envy  were  industriously  direct- 
ed against  me  from  every  quarter :  the  critics,  to  whom 
my  poetry  had  before  been  much  more  familiar  than 
their  psalms  or  their  prayers,  seized,  with  malignant 
delight,  every  opportunity  of  traducing  my  morals ; 
and  those  with  whom  I  had  been  most  intimate,  were 
the  most  eager  to  injure  my  character,  and  destroy  my 
fame."  The  student,  however,  ought  not  to  be  dis- 
couraged by  this  instance  of  envy  and  ingratitude. 
He  who,  conscious  of  his  merit,  learns  to  depend  only 
on  himself  for  support,  will  forget  the  injustice  of  the 
world,  and  draw  his  comfort  and  satisfaction  from 
more  infallible  sources :  like  the  truly  benevolent  and 
great,  he  will  confer  his  favors  on  the  public  without 
the  expectation  of  a  return ;  and  look  with  perfect  in- 
difference upon  all  the  efforts  his  treacherous  friends, 
or  open  enemies,  .are  capable  of  using.  He  will,  like 
Petrarch,  appeal  to  posterity  for  his  reward ;  and  the 
justice  and  generosity  of  future  ages  will  preserve  his 
fame  to  succeeding  generations,  heightened  and  adorn- 
ed in  proportion  as  it  has  been  contemporaneously  mu- 
tilated and  depressed. 

The  genius  of  many  noble  minded  authors,  particu- 
larly in  Germany,  are  obscured  and  blighted  by  the 
thick  and  baneful  fogs  with  which  ignorance  and  envy 
overwhelm  their  works.  Unable  to  withstand  the  in- 
cessant opposition  they  meet  with,  the  powers  of  the 
mind  grow  feeble  and  relaxed  ;  and  many  a  fair  design 
and  virtuous  pursuit  is  quitted  in  despair.  How  fre- 
quently does  the  desponding  mind  exclaim,  "  I  feel  my 
powers  influenced  by  the  affections  of  the  heart.  I  am 
certainly  incapable  of  doing  to  any  individual  an  inten- 
tional injury,  and  I  seek  with  anxiety  every  opportu- 
nity of  doing  good ;  but,  alas  !  my  motives  are  pervert- 
ed, my  designs  misrepresented,  my  endeavors  counter- 
acted, my  very  person  ridiculed,  and  my  character 
defamed."  There  are,  indeed,  those  whose  courage 
and  fortitude  no  opposition  can  damp,  and  no  adversity 


TO   SOLITUDE.  188 

subdue;  whose  firm  and  steady  minds  proceed  with 
determined  resolution  to  accomplish  their  designs  in 
defiance  of  all  resistance ;  and  whose  bright  talents 
drive  away  the  clouds  of  surrounding  dulness,  like  fogs 
before  the  sun.  Wieland,  the  happy  Wieland,  the 
adopted  child  of  every  muse,  the  favorite  pupil  of  the 
graces,  formed  the  powers  of  his  extraordinary  mind 
in  a  lonely  and  obscure  retreat,  the  little  village  of 
Biberach,  in  the  circle  of  Suabia,  and  thereby  laid  the 
foundation  for  that  indisputable  glory  he  has  since  at- 
tained. In  solitude  and  silence  he  enriched  his  mind 
with  all  the  stores  that  art  and  science  could  produce, 
and  enabled  himself  to  delight  and  instruct  mankind, 
by  adorning  the  sober  mien  of  philosophy,  and  the  lively 
smiles  of  wit,  with  the  true  spirit  and  irresistible 
charms  of  poetry.  Retirement  is  the  true  parent  of 
the  great  and  good,  and  the  kind  nurse  of  nature's 
powers.  It  is  to  occasional  retirement  that  politics 
owe  the  ablest  statesmen,  and  philosophy  the  most  ce- 
lebrated sages.  Did  Aristotle,  the  peripatetic  chief, 
compose  his  profound  systems  in  the  tumultuous  court 
of  Philip,  or  were  the  sublime  theories  of  his  master 
conceived  among  the  noisy  feasts  of  the  tyrant  Diony- 
sius?  No.  The  celebrated  groves  of  the  Academy, 
and  the  shades  of  Atarnya,  bear  witness  of  the  impor- 
tant advantages  which,  in  the  opinion  of  both  Plato  and 
Aristotle,  learning  may  derive  from  a  rational  retire- 
ment. These  great  men,  like  all  others  who  preceded 
or  have  followed  them,  found  in  the  ease  and  quietude 
of  retirement  the  best  means  of  forming  their  minds 
and  extending  their  discoveries.  The  celebrated  Leib- 
nitz, to  whom  the  world  is  deeply  indebted,  passed  a 
great  part  of  every  year  at  an  humble,  quiet,  retired, 
and  beautiful  villa  which  he  possessed  in  the  vicinity 
of  Hanover. 

To  this  catalogue  of  causes,  conducing  to  a  love  of 
solitude,  or  hatred  of  society,  we  may  add  religion  and 
fanaticism.  The  benign  genius  of  religion  leads  the 
mind  to  a  love  of  retirement  from  motives  the  highest, 
the  most  noble,  and  most  really  interesting,  that  can 
possibly  be  conceived,  and  produces  the  most  perfect 
state  of  human  happiness,  by  instilling  into  the  heart 
the  most  virtuous  propensities,  and  inspiring  the  mind 
with  its  finest  energies :  but  fanaticism  must  ever  be 
unhappy:  for  it  proceeds  from  a  subversion  of  nature 
itself,  is  formed  on  a  perversion  of  reason,  and  a  viola- 
tion of  truth ;  it  is  the  vice  of  low  and  little  under- 


184  OF  THE  MOTIVES,  &C. 

standings,  is  produced  by  an  ignorance  of  human  Ba- 
ture,  a  misapprehension  of  the  Deity,  and  cannot  be 
practised  without  renunciation  of  real  virtue.  The 
passion  of  retirement,  which .  a  sense  of  religion  en- 
forces, rises  in  proportion  as  the  heart  is  pure,  and  the 
mind  correct ;  but  the  disposition  to  solitude,  which  fa- 
naticism creates,  arises  from  a  wild  enthusiastic  notion 
of  inspiration,  and  increases  in  proportion  as  the  heart 
is  corrupt,  and  the  mind  deranged.  Religion  is  the 
offspring  of  truth  and  love,  and  the  parent  of  benevo- 
lence, hope,  and  joy :  but  the  monster  fanaticism  is  the 
child  of  discontent,  and  her  followers  are  fear  and  sor- 
row. Religion  is  not  confined  to  cells  and  closets,  nor 
restrained  to  sullen  retirement ;  these  are  the  gloomy 
retreats  of  fanaticism,  by  which  she  endeavors  to  break 
those  chains  of  benevolence  and  social  affection  that 
link  the  welfare  of  every  individual  with  that  of  the 
whole.  The  greatest  honor  we  can  pay  to  the  Author  of 
our  being,  is  such  a  cheerful  behavior  as  discovers  a 
mind  satisfied  with  his  dispensations.  But  this  temper 
of  mind  is  most  likely  to  be  attained  by  a  rational  re- 
tirement from  the  cares  and  pleasures  of  the  world. 

The  disposition  to  solitude,  however,  of  whatever 
kind  or  complexion  it  may  be,  is  greatly  influenced  by 
the  temper  and  constitution  of  the  body,  as  well  as  by 
the  frame  and  turn  of  the  mind.  The  action  of  those 
causes  proceeds,  perhaps,  by  slow  and  insensible  de- 
grees, and  varies  in  its  form  and  manner  in  each  indi- 
vidual ;  but  though  gradual  or  multiform,  it  at  length 
reaches  its  point,  and  confirms  the  subject  of  it  in  habits 
of  rational  retreat,  or  unnatural  solitude. 

The  motives  which  conduce  to  a  love  of  solitude 
might,  without  doubt,  be  assigned  to  other  causes ;  but 
a  discussion  of  all  the  refined"^  operations  to  which  the 
mind  may  be  exposed,  and  its  bent  and  inclination  de- 
termined, by  the  two  great  powers  of  sensation  and  re- 
flection, would  be  more  curious  than  useful.  Relin- 
quishing all  inquiry  into  the  primary  or  remote  causes 
of  human  action,  to  those  who  are  fond  of  the  useless 
subtilties  of  metaphysics,  and  confining  our  researches 
to  those  final  or  immediate  causes  which  produce  this 
disposition  to  enjoy  the  benefits  of  rational  retirement, 
or  encounter  the  mischiefs  of  irrational  solitude,  we 
shall  proceed  to  show  the  mischiefs  which  may  result 
from  the  one,  in, order  that  they  may  be  contrasted 
with  the  advantag'es  which,  in  the  first  part,  we  have 
already  shown  may  be  derived  from  the  other. 


DISADVANTAGES  OF  SOLITUDE.         183 

CHAPTER  III. 

The  diiadvatttagei  of  solitude, 

THE  retirement  which  is  not  the  result  of  cool  and 
deliberate  reason,  so  far  from  improving  the  feelings  of 
the  heart,  or  strengthening  the  powers  of  the  mind, 
generally  renders  men  less  able  to  discharge  the  duties 
and  endure  the  burdens  of  life.  The  wisest  and  best 
formed  system  of  retirement  is,  indeed,  surrounded 
with  a  variety  of  dangers,  which  are  not,  without  the 
greatest  care  and  caution,  easily  avoided.  But  in  every 
species  of  total  solitude,  the  perils  are  not  only  innu- 
merable, but  almost  irresistible.  It  would,  however, 
be  erroneous  to  impute  all  the  defects  which  may 
characterize  such  a  recluse  merely  to  the  loneliness  of 
his  situation.  There  are  original  defects  implanted  by 
the  hand  of  nature  in  every  constitution,  which  no  spe- 
cies of  retirement  and  discipline  can  totally  eradicate: 
there  are  certain  vices,  the  seeds  of  which  are  so  inhe- 
rent, that  no  care,  however  great,  can  totally  destroy. 
The  advantages  or  disadvantages  arising  from  retire- 
ment, will  always  be  proportionate  to  the  degrees  of 
virtue  and  vice  which  prevail  in  the  character  of  the 
recluse.  It  is  certain  that  an  occasional  retreat  from 
the  business  of  the  world  will  greatly  improve  the  vir- 
tues, and  increase  the  happiness,  of  him  on  whom 
nature  has  bestowed  a  sound  understanding  and  a  sen- 
sible heart  5  but  when  the  heart  is  corrupt,  the  under- 
standing \veak.  the  imagination  flighty,  and  the  dispo- 
sition depraved,  solitude  only  tends  to  increase  the  evil 
and  to  render  the  character  more  rank  and  vicious ; 
for  whatever  be  the  culture,  the  produce  will  unavoid- 
ably partake  of  the  quality  of  the  seeds  and  the  nature 
of  the  soil}  and  solitude,  by  altowing  a  weak  and  wick- 
ed mind  leisure  to  brood  over  its  own  suggestions^  re- 
creates and  rears  the  mischief  it  was  intended  to  pre- 
vent. 

"...    Where  solitude,  sad  nurse  of  care, 
To  sickly  musing  gives  the  pensive  mind, 
There  madness  enters  :  and  the  dim-eyed  fiend, 
Lorn  melancholy,  night  and  day  provokes 
Her  own  eternal  wound.    The  sun  grows  pale  j 
A  mournful  visi/mary  light  o'erspreads 
The  cheerful  face  of  nature  ;  earth  becomes 
A  dreary  desert ;  anil  the  heavens  frown  above. 
The  various  shapes  of  cursed  illusion  rise; 

16* 


186  THE  DISADVANTAGES 

Whate'erthe  wretched  fear,  creating  fear 
Forms  out  of  nothing  ;  and  with  monsters  teems 
Unknown  in  hell.    The  postrate  soul  beneath 
A  load  of  huge  imagination  heaves  : 
And  all  the  horrors  that  the  guilty  feel, 
With  anxious  fluttering  wake  the  guilty  breast. 
From  other eares  absolved,  the  busy  mind 
Finds  in  itself  a  theme  to  pore  upon ; 
And  finds  it  miserable,  or  makes  it  so." 

To  enable  the  mind,  however,  to  form  an  accurate 
judgment  of  the  probable  consequences  of  solitude,  it 
is,  perhaps,  necessary  to  have  seen  instances  both  of 
its  advantageous  and  detrimental  effectsr  The  conse- 
quences vary  with  the  subject  on  which  it  operates ; 
and  the  same  species  of  solitude  which  to  one  charac- 
ter would  be  injurious,  will  prove  to  another  of  the 
highest  benefit  and  advantage^  The  same  person,  in- 
deed, may  at  different  periods,  as  his  disposition  changes, 
experience,  under  similar  circumstances  of  retirement, 
very  different  effects.  Certain,  however,  it  is,  that  an 
occasional  retreat  from  the  tumultuous  intercourses 
of  society,  or  a  judicious  and  well  arranged  retirement, 
cannot  be  prejudicial.  To  have  pointed  out  the  train 
of  virtues  it  is  capable  of  producing,  and  to  have  been 
silent  upon  the  black  catalogue  of  vices  that  may  re» 
suit  from  extreme  seclusion,  would  have  been  the  more 
pleasing  task ;  but  I  have  undertaken  to  draw  the 
character  of  solitude  impartially,  and  must  therefore 
point  out  its  possible  defects. 

Man  in  a  sate  of  solitary  indolence  and  inactivity, 
sinks  by  degrees  like  stagnant  water  into  impurity 
and  corruption.  The  body  suffers  with  the  mind's  de- 
cay. It  is  more  fatal  than  excess  of  action.  It  is  a 
malady  that  renders  every  hope  of  recovery  vain  and 
visionary.  To  sink  from  action  into  rest,  is  only  indulg- 
ing the  common  course  of  nature ;  but  to  rise  from  long 
continued  indolence  to  voluntary  activity,  is  extreme- 
ly difficult,  and  almost  impracticable.  A  celebrated 
poet  has  finely  described  this  class  of  unhappy  beings 
in  the  following  lines : 

"  Then  look'd,  and  saw  a  lazy  lolling  sort, 
Unseen  at  church,  at  senate,  or  at  court, 
Of  ever  listless  loiterers,  that  attend 
No  cause,  no  trust,  no  duty,  and  no  friend. 
Thee,  too,  my  Paridel !  she  mark'd  thee  there, 
Stretch'd  on  the  rack  of  a  too  easy  chair, 
And  heard  the  everlasting  yawn  confess 
The  pains  and  penalties  of  idleness." 


OP  SOLITUDE.  187 

To  preserve  the  proper  strength,  both  of  the  body 
and  the  mind,  labor  must  be  regularly  and  seasona- 
bly mingled  with  rest.  Each  of  them  require  their 
suited  exercise  and  relaxations.  Philosophers,  who 
aim  at  the  attainment  of  every  superior  excellency,  do 
not  indulge  themselves  in  ease,  and  securely  and  indo- 
lently wait  for  the  cruelties  or  fortune  to  attack  them 
in  their  retirement ;  but,  for  fear  she  should  surprise 
them  in  the  state  of  inexperienced  and  raw  soldiers, 
undisciplined  for  the  battle  they  sally  out  to  meet  her, 
and  put  themselves  into  regular  training,  and  even 
upon  the  proof  of  hardships.  Those  only  who  observe 
a  proper  interchange  of  exercise  and  rest,  can  expect 
to  enjoy  health  of  oody,  or  cheerfulness  of  mind.  It 
is  the  only  means  by  which  the  economy  of  the  hu- 
man frame  can  be  regularly  preserved. 

He,  therefore,  who  does  not  possess  sufficient  activi- 
ty to  keep  the  body  and  mind  in  proper  exercise ;  he 
who  is  unacquainted  with  the  art  of  varying  his  amuse- 
ments, of  changing  the  subjects  of  his  contemplation, 
and  of  finding  within  himself  all  the  materials  of  en- 
joyment, will  soon  feel  solitude  not  only  burdensome, 
but  insupportable.  To  such  a  character,  solitude  will 
not  only  be  disagreeable,  but  dangerous ;  for  the  mo- 
ment the  temporary  passion  which  draws  him  from 
society  has  subsided,  he  will  sink  into  languor  and  in- 
difference; and  this  temper  is  always  unfavorable  to 
moral  sentiment.  The  world,  perhaps,  with  all  its  dis- 
advantages, is  less  likely  to  be  injurious  to  such  a  man, 
than  the  calm  and  silent  shades  of  unenjoyed  retire- 
ment. 

Solitude  also,  particularly  when  carried  to  an  ex- 
treme, is  apt  to  render  the  character  of  the  recluse  rigid, 
austere,  and  inflexible,  and  of  course,  unsuited  to  the 
enjoyments  ofjajjfety.  The  notions  he  contracts  are 
as  singular  and  abstracted  as  his  situation  :  he  adheres 
to  them  with  inflexible  pertinacity:  his  mind  moves 
only  in  the  accustomed  track :  he  cherishes  his  precon- 
ceived errors  and  prejudices  with  fond  attachment,  and 
despises  those  whose  sentiments  are  contrary  to  his 
own.  A  promiscuous  intercourse  with  society  has  the 
effect  of  rendering  the  mind  docile,  and  his  judgment  of 
men  and  things  correct:  for  in  the  world  every  subject 
is  closely  examined,  every  question  critically  discussed  ; 
and.  while  the  spirit  of  controversy  and  opposition  elicits 
truth, the  mind  is  led  intoatrainof  rational  investigation, 
and  its  powers  strengthened  and  enlarged;  but  the 


188  Vxwi  DISADVANTAGES 

mind  of  the  recluse  being  uninterruptedly  confined  to 
its  own  course  of  reasoning,  and  to  the  habit  of  view- 
ing objects  on  one  side,  it  is  unable  to  appreciate  the 
respective  weights  which  different  arguments  may  de- 
serve, or  to  judge  in  doubtful  cases,  on  which  side, 
truth  is  most  likely  to  be  found.  A  commixture  of 
different  opinions,  on  any  particular  subject,  provokes 
a  free  and  liberal  discussion  of  it,  an  advantage  which 
the  prepossession  engendered  by  solitude  uniformly 
prevents. 

Solitude,  while  it  establishes  a  dangerous  confidence 
in  the  powers  and  opinions  of  its  votaries,  not  only 
fastens  on  the  characters  the  errors  and  imperfections 
it  has  produced  and  fostered,  but  recommends  them 
strongly  to  their  esteem.  How  frequently  do  we  ob- 
serve, even  in  persons  of  rank  and  fortune,  who  reside 
continually  on  their  own  estates,  a  haughty  manner 
and  arbitrary  disposition,  totally  incompatible  with  that 
candid  conduct,  that  open  minded  behavior,  that  conde- 
scending urbanity,  that  free  spirit,  which  mark  the 
character  of  the  polite  and  liberal  minded  gentleman, 
and  render  him  the  veneration  and  delight  of  all 
around  him  !  "  Obstinacy  and  pride,"  says  Plato,  "  are 
the  inevitable  consequences  of  a  solitary  life ;"  and  the 
frequency  of  the  fact  certainly  justifies  the  observation. 
Retired,  secluded  characters,  having  no  opportunity  of 
encountering  the  opinions  of  others,  or  of  listening  to 
any  other  judgment  than  their  own,  establish  a  species 
of  tyranny  over  their  understandings,  and  check  that 
free  excursion  of  the  intellect  which  the  discovery  of 
truth  requires.  They  reject,  with  disdain,  the  close  in- 
vestigations of  logic,  and  repel  all  attempts  to  examine 
their  arguments,  and  expose  their  fallacies.  Their  pre- 
conceived opinions,  which  they  dignify  with  the  appel- 
lation of  settled  truths,  and  mistake  for  indisputable 
axioms,  have  infixed  themselves  iBBfieeply  in  their 
minds  that  they  cannot  endure  the  idea  of  their  being 
rooted  out  or  removed:  and  they  are  fearful  of  submit- 
ting them  to  the  test  of  controversy,  only  because  they 
were  originally  received  without  due  examination, 
and  have  been  confirmed  by  the  implicit  consent  and 
approbation  of  their  inferiors  and  dependants. 

Solitude  also,  even  the  solitude  which  poets  and  phi- 
losophers have  so  feelingly  described  as  blissful  and 
beneficial,  has  frequently  proved  injurious  to  its  delight- 
ed votaries.  Men  of  letters  are,  in  general,  too  inat- 
tentive to  those  easy  and  captivating  manners  which 


OF   SOLITUDE.  189 

give  such  high  spirit  to  the  address,  and  splendid  deco- 
ration to  the  characters,  of  well  bred  men.  They  sel- 
dom qualify  the  awkwardness  of  scholastic  habits  by  a 
free  and  intimate  intercourse  either  with  the  world  or 
with  each  other ;  but  being  secluded  from  society,  and 
engaged  in  abstracted  pursuits,  adopt  a  pedantic  phra- 
seology, an  unaccommodating  address,  formal  notions, 
and  a  partial  attachment  to  their  recondite  pursuits. 
The  common  topics  of  conversation,  and  usual  enter- 
tainment of  company,  they  treat  with  high,  but  unjus- 
tifiable disdain;  and,  blinded  by  fogs  of  pride,  and  ideal 
superiority,  are  rendered  incapable  of  discerning  their 
errors. 

The  correction  of  this  disposition  in  authors  has  been 
thought  of  so  much  importance  to  the  interests  of  mo- 
rals, and  to  the  manners  of  the  rising  generation,  that 
scholars  in  general  have  been  exhorted,  in  the  highest 
strains  of  eloquence,  by  one  of  the  most  powerful 
preachers  of  Germany,  from  the  pulpit  of  the  politest 
city  in  the  empire,  to  guard  with  unceasing  vigilance 
against  those  defects  which  are  so  apt  to  mingle  with 
the  habits  of  the  profession,  and  which  tend  to  sully 
the  brightness  of  their  characters.  The  orator  invokes 
them  to  shake  off  that  distant  demeanor,  that  unso- 
cial reserve,  that  supercilious  behavior  and  almost 
express  contempt,  from  which  few  of  them  are 
free,  and  which  most  of  them  practise  when  in 
unlettered  company ;  and  to  treat  their  feltow  citi- 
zens, however  inferior  they  may  be  in  erudition  and 
scholastic  knowledge,  with  affability  and  attention  ;  to 
listen  to  their  conversation  with  politeness ;  to  regard 
their  errors  with  lenity;  to  view  their  failings  with 
compassion,  and  their  defects  with  liberality  ;  to  lead 
them  into  the  paths  of  truth  and  science  by  mild  per- 
suasion, to  lure  them  to  knowledge  by  gentle  means, 
and,  by  reducing  their  conversation  and  subjects  of  dis- 
course to  a  level  with  the  unlettered  understandings  of 
their  auditors,  to  please  the  heart  while  they  instruct  the 
mind. 

Good  sense  and  learning  may  esteem  obtain , 

Humor  and  wit  a  laugh,  if  rightly  ta'en  : 

Fair  virtue  admiration  may  impart; 

But  'tis  good  nature  only  wins  the  heart : 

It  moulds  the  body  to  an  easy  grace. 

And  brightens  every  feature  of  the  face  : 

It  smooths  th'  unpolish'd  tongue  with  eloquence, 

And  adds  persuasion  to  the  finest  sense. 


1SK)  THE  DI3ADVANTAGEB 

Learning  and  good  sense,  indeed,  to  whatever  de- 
gree they  may  be  possessed,  can  only  render  the  pos- 
sessor happy  in  proportion  as  he  employs  them  to  in- 
crease the  happiness  of  others.  To  effect  this,  he  must 
occasionally  endure  the  jokes  of  dullness  without  petu- 
lance, and  listen  with  complacency  to  the  observations 
of  ignorance,  but,  above  all,  he  must  carefully  avoid 
all  inclination  to  exhibit  his  own  superiority,  and  to 
shine  at  the  expense  of  others. 

Learning  and  wisdom,  indeed,  however  they  may  be 
confounded  by  arrogant  and  self-conceited  scholars, 
are  in  no  respects  synonymous  terms ;  but,  on  the  con- 
trary, are  not  unfrequently  quite  at  variance  with  each 
other.  The  high  admiration  which  scholars  are  too 
apt  to  entertain  of  the  excellency  of  their  own  talents, 
and  the  vast  importance  they  generally  ascribe  to  their 
own  characters  and  merit,  instead  of  producing  that 
sound  judgment  upon  men  and  things  which  consti- 
tutes true  wisdom,  only  engenders  an  effervescence  in 
the  imagination,  the  effect  of  which  is  in  general,  the 
most  frothy  folly.  Many  of  those  who  thus  pride 
themselves  on  the  pursuits  of  literature,  having  nothing 
to  boast  of  but  an  indefatigable  attention  to  some  idle 
and  unprofitable  study;  a  study  which,  perhaps  only 
tends  to  contract  the  feelings  of  the  heart,  and  impo- 
verish the  powers  of  the  mind.  True  wisdom  and 
genuine  virtue  are  the  produce  of  those  enlarged  views 
which  arise  from  a  general  and  comprehensive  know- 
ledge both  of  books  and  men :  but  scholars,  who  con- 
fine their  attention  entirely  to  books,  and  feel  no  in- 
terest or  concern  for  the  world,  despise  every  object 
that  does  not  lie  within  the  range  of  their  respective 
studies.  By  poring  over  obsolete  works,  they  ac- 
quire sentiments  quite  foreign  to  the  manners  of  the 
age  in  which  we  live  ;  form  opinions  as  ridiculous  as 
they  are  unfashionable;  fabricate  systems  incompre- 
hensible to  the  rest  of  mankind ;  an'd  maintain  argu- 
ments so  offensive  and  absurd,  that  whenever  they  ven- 
ture to  display  their  acquirements  in  society,  they  are, 
like  the  bird  of  night,  hooted  back  with  derision  into 
their  daily  obscurity.  Many  studious  characters  are  so 
puffed  up  by  arrogance,  presumption,  self-conceit,  and 
vanity,  that  they  can  scarcely  speak  upon  any  subject 
without  hurting  the  feelings  of  their  friends  and  giving 
cause  of  triumph  to  their  enemies.  The  counsel  and 
instruction  they  affect  to  give  is  so  mixed  with  osten- 
tatious pedantry,  that  they  destroy  the  very  end  they 


OP  SOLITUDE.  J91 

wish  to  promote :  and,  instead  of  acquiring  honorable 
approbation,  cover  themselves  with  merited  disgrace. 
Plato,  the  illustrious  chief  of  the  academic  set  of  Athe- 
nian philosophers  was  so  totally  free  from  this  vice  of 
inferior  minds,  that  it  was  impossible  to  discover  in  him 
by  ordinary  and  casual  conversation,  that  sublime  ima- 
gination and  almost  divine  intellect,  which  rendered 
him  the  idol  of  his  age,  and  the  admiration  of  suc- 
ceeding generations.  On  his  return  from  Syracuse,  to 
which  place  he  had  been  invited  by  Dionysius  the 
younger,  he  visited  Olympia,  to  be  present  at  the  per- 
formance of  the  Olympic  games ;  and  he  was  placed 
on  the  seat  appropriated  to  foreigners  of  the  highest 
distinction,  but  to  whom  he  was  not  personally  known. 
Some  of  them  were  so  pleased  with  the  ease,  polite- 
ness, wisdom,  and  vivacity  of  his  conversation,  that 
they  accompanied  him  to  Athens,  and,  on  their  arrival 
in  that  city,  requested  him  to  procure  them  an  inter- 
view withJPlatp.  But  how  pleasing  and  satisfactory 
was  their  surprise,  when,  on  his  replying  with  a  smile, 
" /  am  the  person  whom  you  wish  to  see"  they  disco- 
vered that  this  affable  and  entertaining  companion,  with 
whom  they  had  travelled  without  discerning  his  excel- 
lency, was  the  most  learned  and  profound  philosopher 
at  that  time  existing  in  the  world!  The  studious  and 
retired  life  of  this  extraordinary  character  had  not  de- 
creased his  urbanity  and  politenesss,  nor  deprived  him 
of  the  exercise  of  those  easy  and  seducing  manners 
which  so  entirely  engage  the  affection  and  win  the 
heart.  He  wisely  prevented  seclusion  from  robbing 
him  of  that  amenity  and  unassuming  ease  so  necessary 
to  the  enjoyment  of  society.  Like  those  two  eminent 
philosophers  of  the  present  day,  the  wise  Mendelsohm. 
and  the  amiable  Garve,  he  derived  from  solitude  all 
the  benefits  it  is  capable  of  conferring,  without  suffer- 
ing any  of  those  injuries  which  it  too  frequently  inflicts 
on  less  powerful  minds. 

Culpable,  however,  as  studious  characters  in  general 
are,  by  neglecting  to  cultivate  that  social  address,  and 
to  observe  that  civility  of  manners,  and  urbane  atten- 
tion, which  an  intercourse  not  only  with  the  world,  but 
even  with  private  society,  so  indispensably  requires, 
certain  it  is,  that  men  of  fashion  expect  from  them  a 
more  refined  good  breeding,  and  a  nicer  attention  to 
the  forms  of  politeness,  than  all  their  endeavors  can 
produce.  The  fashionable  world,  indeed,  are  blamable 
for  their  constant  attempts  to  deride  the  awkwardness 


192  THE  DISADVANTAGES 

of  their  more  erudite  and  abstracted  companions.  The 
severity  with  which  they  treat  the  defective  manners 
of  a  scholastic  visiter,  is  a  violation  of  the  first  rules  of 
true  politeness,  which  consists  entirely  of  a  happy  com- 
bination of  good  sense  and  good  nature,  both  of  which 
dictate  a  different  conduct,  and  induce  rather  a  friendly 
concealment  than  a  triumphant  exposure  of  such  ve- 
nial failings.  The  inexperienced  scholastic  is  entitled 
to  indulgence,  for  he  can  not  be  expected  nicely  to  prac- 
tice customs  which  he  has  had  no  opportunity  to  learn. 
To  the  eye  of  polished  life,  his  austerity,  his  reserve,  his 
mistakes,  his  indecorums,  may,  perhaps,  appear  ridicu- 
lous ;  but  to  expose  him  to  derision  on  this  subject  is 
destructive  to  the  general  interests  of  society,  inas- 
much as  it  tends  to  repress  and  damp  endeavors  to 
please.  How  is  it  possible  that  men  who  devote  the 
greater  portion  of  their  time  to  the  solitary  and  abstract- 
ed pursuits  of  literature,  can  possess  that  promptitude 
of  thought,  that  variety  of  expression,  thoslkeasy  man- 
ners, and  that  varying  humor,  which  prevail  so  agree- 
ably in  mixed  society,  and  which  can  only  be  acquired 
by  a  constant  intercourse  with  the  world  ?  It  was  not 
only  cruel,  but  unjust,  of  the  Swedish  courtiers  to  di- 
vert themselves  with  the  confusion  and  embarrass- 
ments into  which  Miebom  and  Naude,  two  celebrated 
writers  on  the  music  and  dances  of  the  ancients  were 
thrown,  when  the  celebrated  Christina  desired  the  one 
to  sing  and  the  other  to  dance  in  public,  for  the  enter- 
tainment of  the  court.  Still  less  excusable  were  those 
imps  of  fashion  in  France,  who  exposed  the  celebrated 
mathematician,  Nicole,  to  the  derision  of  a  large  com-* 
pany,  for  the  misapplication  of  a  word.  A  fashionable 
female  at  Paris,  having  heard  that  Nicole,  who  had 
then  lately  written  a  profound  and  highly  approved 
treatise  on  the  doctrine  of  curves,  was  greatly  celebrated 
in  all  the  circles  of  science,  and  affecting  to  be  thought 
the  patroness  and  intimate  of  all  persons  of  distinguish- 
ed merit,  sent  him  such  an  invitation  to  one  of  her  par- 
ties that  he  could  not  refuse  to  accept  of.  The  abstract- 
ed geometrician,  who  had  never  before  been  present 
at  an  assembly  of  the  kind,  received  the  civilities  of 
his  fair  hostess,  and  her  illustrious  friends,  with  all  the 
awkwardness  and  confusion  which  such  a  scene  must 
naturally  create.  After  passing  an  uncomfortable  even- 
ing, in  answering  the  observations  of  those  who  ad- 
dressed him.  in  which  he  experienced  much  greater 
difficulties  than  he  would  have  found  in  solving  the 


OP   SOLITUDE.  193 

most  intricate  problem,  he  prepared  to  take  his  leave, 
and  pouring  out  a  profusion  of  declarations  to  the  lady 
of  the  house,  of  the  grateful  sense  he  entertained  of 
the  high  honor  she  had  conferred  on  him,  by  her  gene- 
rous invitation,  distinguishing  attention,  polite  regard, 
and  extraordinary  civility,  rose  to  the  climax  of  his 
compliments,  by  assuring  her,  that  the  lovely  little  eyes 
of  hisf'iir  entertainer  had  made  an  impression  uliich 
never  could  be  erased  from  his  breast,  and  immedialei> 
departed.  But  a  kind  friend,  who  was  accompanying 
him  home,  whispering  in  his  ear,  as  they  were  passing 
the  stairs,  that  he  had  paid  the  lady  a  very  ill  compli- 
ment, by  telling  her  that  her  eyes  were  little,  for  thai 
little  eyes  were  universally  understood  by  the  whole 
sex  to  be  a  great  defect.  Nicole,  mortified  to  an  ex- 
treme by  the  mistake  he  had  thus  innocently  made, 
and  resolving  to  apologize  to  the  lady  whom  he  con- 
ceived lie  had  offended,  returned  abruptly  to  the  com- 
pany, and  entreated  her  with  great  humility,  to  pardon 
the  error  into  which  his  confusion  had  betrayed  him 
of  imputing  any  thing  like  littleness  to  so  high,  so  ele- 
gant, so  distinguished  a  character,  declaring  that  he 
had  never  beheld  such  fine  large  eyes,  such  fine  large 
lips,  such  fine  large  hands,  or  so  fine  and  large  a  per- 
son altogether,  in  the  whole  course  of  his  life! 

The  professional  pursuits  of  students  confine  them, 
during  the  early  periods  of  life,  to  retirement  and  se- 
clusion, and  prevent  them  in  general,  from  attempting 
19  mix  in  the  society  of  the  world  until  age,  or  profes- 
sional habits,  have  rendered  them  unfit  for  this  scene. 
Discouraged  by  the  neglect  they  experience,  and  by 
the  ridicule  to  which  they  are  exposed,  on  their  first 
introduction  into  active  life,  from  persevering  in  their 
attempts  to  shake  off  the  uncouth  manner  they  have  ac- 
quired, they  immediately  shrink  from  the  displeasing 
prospect  into  their  original  obscurity,  in  despair  of 
ever  attaining  the  talents  necessary  to  render  them 
agreeable  to  the  elegant  and  gay.  There  are,  indeed, 
some  men,  who,  on  attempting  to  change  the  calm 
and  rational  enjoyments  of  a  retired  and  studious  life, 
for  the  more  lively  and  loquacious  pleasures  of  public 
society,  perceive  the  manners  and  maxims  of  the  world 
so  repugnant  to  their  principles,  and  so  disagreeable  to 
their  taste  and  inclinations,  that  they  instantly  abandon 
society,  and,  renouncing  all  future  attempts  to  enter  into- 
its  vortex,  calmly  and  contentedly  return  to  their  be- 
loved retreat  under  an  idea  that  it  is  wrong  for  persons 


194  THE  DISADVANTAGES 

of  such  different  dispositions  to  intermix  or  invade  the 
provinces  of  each  other.  There  are  also  many  studi- 
ous characters  who  avoid  society,  under  an  idea  that 
they  have  transferred  their  whole  minds  into  their  own 
compositions ;  that  they  have  exhausted  all  that  they 
possessed  of  either  instruction  or  entertainment; 
and  that  they  would,  like  empty  bottles,  or  squeezed 
oranges,  be  thrown  aside  with  disregard,  and,  perhaps, 
with  contempt,  as  persons  no  longer  capable  of  con 
tributing  to  companionable  pleasures.  But  there  are 
others  of  sounder  sense  and  better  judgment,  who 
gladly  relinquish  the  noisy  assemblies  of  public  lifCj 
and  joyfully  retire  to  the  sweet  and  tranquil  scenes  of 
rural  solitude,  because  they  seldom  meet  among  the  can- 
didates for  public  approbation,  a  single  individual  capa- 
ble of  enjoying  a  just  thought,  or  making  a  rational  re- 
flection ;  but,  on  the  contrary,  have  to  encounter  a  host 
of  vain,  frivolous  pretenders  to  wit  and  learning,  who 
herd  together,  like  the  anarchs  of  insurrection,  to  op- 
pose with  noise  and  violence,  the  progress  of  truth  and 
the  exertions  of  reason. 

Sentiments  like  these  too  frequently  banish  from  the 
circles  of  society  characters  of  useful  knowledge  and 
of  distinguished  genius,  and  from  whose  endowments 
mankind  might  receive  both  instruction  and  delight. 
The  loss,  in  such  a  case,  to  the  individual  is,  perhaps, 
trifling ;  his  comforts  may  possibly  be  increased  by  his 
seclusion ;  but  the  interests  of  truth  and  good  sense 
are  thereby  considerably  injured :  for  the  mind  of  man, 
however  powerful  and  informed  it  may  be  in  itself,  can- 
not employ  its  energies  and  acquisitions  with  the  same 
advantage  and  effect,  as  when  it  is  whetted  by  a  colli- 
sion with  other  minds,  and  polished  by  the  manners  of 
the  world.  An  acquaintance  with  the  living  charac- 
ters and  manners  of  the  world,  teaches  the  mind  to  di- 
rect its  powers  to  their  proper  and  most  useful  points: 
exhibits  the  means  and  furnishes  the  instruments,  by 
which  the  best  exertions  of  virtue  can  attain  her  ends ; 

fives  morals  their  brightest  color,  taste  its  highest  re- 
nement,  and  truth  its  fairest  objects.  The  wisest  and 
best  philosophers  have  acknowledged  the  obligations 
they  were  under  to  society  for  the  Knowledge  they  ac- 
quired in  its  extensive,  though  dangerous  school,  and 
have  strongly  recommended  the  study  of  mankind, 
by  viewing  all  the  various  classes  with  a  discriminating 
eye,  as  the  best  means  of  becoming  acquainted  with  the 
beauties  of  virtue,  and  the  deformities  of  vice,  and,  of 


OF  SOLITUDE.  195 

course,  as  the  best  means  of  discovering  the  true  road 
to  earthly  happiness ;  for — 

Virtue,  immortal  virtue  !  born  to  please, 
The  child  of  nature  and  the  source  of  ease, 
Bids  every  bliss  on  human  life  attend  ; 
To  every  rank  a  kind  and  faithful  friend ; 
Inspirits  nature  'midst  the  scenes  of  toil, 
Smooths  languor's  cheek,  and  bids  fell  want  recoil : 
Shines  from  the  mitre  with  unsullied  rays, 
Glares  on  the  crest,  and  gives  the  star  to  blaze ; 
Supports  distinction,  spreads  ambition's  wings, 
Forms  saints  of  queens,  and  demi-gods  of  kings; 
O'er  grief,  oppression,  envy,  scorn,  prevails, 
And  makes  a  cottage  greater  than  Versailles. 

A  free,  open,  unconstrained  intercourse  with  man- 
kind, has  also  the  advantage  of  reconciling  us  to  the 
peculiarities  of  others,  and  of  teaching  us  the  impor- 
tant lesson  how  to  accommodate  our  minds  and  man- 
ners to  such  principles,  opinions,  and  dispositions,  as 
may  differ  from  our  own.  The  learned  and  enlighten- 
ed cannot  maintain  an  intercourse  with  the  illiterate, 
without  exercising  an  extraordinary  degree  of  patience, 
conceding  many  points  which  appear  unnatural,  and 
forbearing  to  feel  those  little  vexations  so  adherent  to 
characters  who  have  lived  in  retirement.  The  philoso- 
pher, in  order  to  teach  virtue  to  the  world  with  any 
hope  of  success,  must  humor  its  vices  to  a  certain  de- 

free,  and  sometimes  even  adopt  the  follies  he  intends  to 
estroy.  To  inculcate  wisdom,  it  is  necessary  to  follow 
the  examples  of  Socrates  and  Wieland,  and,  separating 
from  morals  all  that  is  harsh,  repulsive,  and  anti-social, 
adopt  only  the  kind  and  complacent  tenets  of  the  sci- 
ence. A  German  author  of  the  present  day,  whom  I  glory 
to  call  both  my  countrvman  and  my  friend,  observes, 
with  the  sagacity  and  discrimination  of  a  critic,  in  his 
"  Remarks  on  the  Writings  and  Genius  of  Franklin," 
that  the  compositions  of  that  great  and  extraordinary 
character  are  totally  free  from  that  pomp  of  style  and 
parade  of  erudition,  which  so  frequently  disfigure  the 
writings  of  other  authors,  and  defeat  their  intended  ef- 
fect. The  pen  of  Franklin  renders  the  most  abstract 
principles  easy  and  familiar.  He  conveys  his  instruc- 
tions in  pleasing  narrations,  lively  adventures,  or  hu- 
morous observations ;  and  while  his  manner  wins  upon 
the  heart,  by  the  friendly  interest  he  appears  to  take  in 
the  concerns  of  mankind,  his  matter  instils  into  the 
mind  the  soundest  principles  of  morals  and  good  policy, 


196  THE  DISADVANTAGES 

Hs  makes  fancy  the  handmaid  to  reason  in  her  re- 
searches into  science,  and  penetrates  the  understanding 
through  the  medium  of  the  affections.  A  secret  charm 
pervades  every  part  of  his  woi  ks.  He  rivets  the  atten- 
tion hy  the  strength  of 'his  observations,  and  relieves  it 
by  the  variety  of  pleasing  images  with  which  he  em- 
bellishes his  subject.  The  perspicuity  of  his  style,  and 
the  equally  easy  and  eloquent  turn  of  his  periods, 
give  life  and  energy  to  his  thoughts ;  and,  while  the 
reader  feels  his  heart  bounding  with  delight,  he  finds 
his  mind  impregnated  with  instruction.  These  high 
advantages  resulted  entirely  from  his  having  studied 
the  world,  and  gained  an  accurate  knowledge  of  man- 
kind. An  author,  indeed,  may  acquire  an  extraordinary 
fund  of  knowledge  in  solitude;  but  it  is  in  society 
alone  that  he  can  learn  how  to  render  it  useful.  Before 
he  can  instruct  the  world,  he  must  be  enabled  to  view 
its  fooleries  and  vices  with  calm  inspection ;  to  contem- 
plate them  without  anger,  as  the  unavoidable  conse- 
quences of  human  infirmity ;  to  treat  them  with  ten- 
derness; and  to  avoid  exasperating  the  feelings  of 
those  whose  depravity  lie  is  attempting  to  correct.  A  mo- 
ral censor  whose  disp9sition  is  kind  and  benevolent,  never 
suffers  his  superior  virtue,  knowledge,  or  talents,  how- 
ever great  they  may  be,  to  offend  the  feelings  of  others ; 
but,  like  Socrates,  he  will  appear  as  if  he  were  receiv- 
ing himself  the  instruction  he  is  imparting.  It  is  a  fine 
observation  of  the  celebrated  Goethe,  that  kindness  is 
the  golden  chain  by  which  society  is  bound  together : 
those  who  have  had  the  happiness  to  converse  with 
that  extraordinary  man,  must  have  perceived  the  anx- 
iety with  which  he  endeavors  to  temper  the  strength 
of  his  genius  by  the  mildness  and  amenity  of  his  con- 
versation. 

Men  of  letters,  however  awkward  the  habits  of  se- 
clusion may  have  rendered  them,  would,  I  am  con- 
vinced, be,  in  general,  if  not  always,  treated  with  great 
politeness  and"  attention,  if  they  wouJd  be  careful  to 
treat  others  with  the  common  candor  which  humanity 
requires,  and  with  that  indulgence  and  affability  which 
true  liberality  of  sentiment  will  ever  dictate  ;  but  how 
few,  alas !  are  there  who,  by  complacency  and  conde- 
scension, entitle  themselves  to  the  kindness  and  civili- 
ty of  which  they  stand  so  much  in  need,  and  so  arro- 
gantly expect !  How  is  it  possible  for  those  who  are 
vigilantly  anxious  to  depress  the  rising  merit  of  others, 
ever  to  gain  their  friendship  or  esteem?  Friendship 
can  only  be  acquired  by  an  open,  sincere,  liberal  and 


OP   SOLITUDE.  197 

manlv  conduct ;  but  he  whose  breast  is  filled  with  envy 
and  jealousy,  who  cautiously  examines,  before  he 
speaks,  every  sentiment  and  feeling,  lest  his  tongue 
should  betray  the  meanness  of  his  heart,  and  the  po- 
verty of  his  mind  ;  who  seizes  every  light  indiscretion, 
or  trifling  error,  that  many  inadvertently  escape  from 
his  companions ;  who  silently  repines  at  every  excel- 
lency, both  moral  and  intellectual,  which  they  may  dis- 
cover; who,  even  when  surrounded  by  those  who  wish 
him  well,  continues  with  guarded  circumspection,  and 
suspicious  caution,  to  weigh  the  motives-  of  their  ac- 
tions and  conversation,  as  if  he  were  surrounded  by 
the  bitterest  enemies,  must  be  utterly  incapable  of  es- 
teeming others,  or  being  esteemed  himself;  and  to  sup- 
pose that  the  generous  flame  of  friendship,  that  holy 
fire  which,  under  the  deepest  adversity,  so  comfortably 
warms  and  cheers  the  heart,  can  ever  spring  up  from 
such  cold  materials,  and  ashy  embers,  would  be  extra- 
vagant and  ridiculous. 

The  delight  which  the  heart  experiences  in  pouring 
forth  the  fulness  of  its  feelings,  with  honest  confidence, 
into  the  bosom  of  a  faithful  friend,  is  permanent  ana 
unbounded.  The  pleasures  which  spring  from  the  ac- 
quisition of  fame,  whether  resulting  from  the  generous 
voice  of  an  approving  public,  or  extorted  from  the  re- 
luctant tongues  of  envious  rivals  and  contemporaries, 
will  bear  no  comparison  with  those  which  thrill  through 
the  exulting  bosom  of  him  who  can  justly  exclaim, 
"  To  the  heart  of  this  unhappy  man  I  have  given  re- 
turning hopes,  and  made  him  look  forward  with  confi- 
dence to  the  enjoyment  of  peace ;  to  his  wounded  spirit 
I  have  imparted  the  balm  of  comfort  and  tranquillity ; 
and  from  the  bleeding  bosom  of  my  friend  have  driven 
despair !"  But  to  perform  such  offices  as  these,  it  is  in- 
dispensably necessary  that  we  should  have  recommend- 
ed ourselves  to  the  confidence,  and  have  gained  the 
affections  of  those  we  intend  to  serve.  This  great  and 
necessary  property,  however,  those  who  live  secluded 
lives  very  seldom  possess :  but,  much  as  they  may  in 
general  disdain  to  practise  this  high  virtue,  it  is  ne- 
cessary that  they  should  know  that  it  tends  more  to 
ennoble  the  sentiments  of  the  mind,  and  to  raise  the 
feelings  of  the  heart,  than  their  most  successful  re- 
searches to  discover  something  before  unheard  of  in  the 
regions  of  science,  and  which  they  pursue  with  as  much 
avidity  as  if  truth  were  liable  to  decay,  unless  sustain  • 
ed  by  the  aid  of  novelty. 

17* 


198  THE  DISADVANTAGES 

It  is  justly  and  beautifully  said  bv  one  of  the  apocry- 
phal writers,  that  a  faithful  friend  is  the  medicine  of 
life.  A  variety  of  occasions  happen,  when  to  pour 
forth  the  heart  to  one  whom  we  love  and  trust,  is  the 
chief  comfort,  perhaps  the  only  relief  we  can  enjoy. 
Miserable  is  he  who,  shut  up  within  the  narrow  inclb- 
sure  of  selfish  interest,  has  no  person  to  whom  he  can 
at  all  times,  with  full  confidence,  expand  his  soul.  But 
he  who  can  only  feel  an  affection  for  such  as  listen  con- 
tinually to  the  suggestions  of  vanity,  as  applaud  indis- 
criminately the  imaginary  prodigies  of  his  wit,  or  never 
contradict  the  egotism  of  his  opinions,  is  totally  unfit 
for  friendship,  and  utterly  unworthy  of  respect.  It  is 
men  of  learning  and  of  retired  habits,  who  are  most 
likely  to  adopt  tnisdisengaging  disposition.  There  are, 
I  am  sorry  to  say  it,  many  men,  distinguished  in  the 
paths  of  science,  who  affect  to  possess  the  most  refined 
sensibility,  and  whose  tongues  are  continually  proclaim- 
ing the  virtues  of  benevolence,  but  who,  when  they  are 
called  upon  to  practise  those  virtues  in  behalf  of  some 
distressed  companion,  turn  a  deaf  ear  to  the  appeal, 
form  some  poor  excuse  for  not  interfering,  and,  if  press- 
ed to  come  forward  with  some  promised  assistance, 
deny  to  afford  it,  because  the  unhappy  sufferer  has  ne- 
glected to  approve  of  some  extravagant  conjecture,  or  to 
adopt  all  the  visionary  notions  and  Utopian  systems 
they  may  have  framed.  He  who  neglects  to  perform 
the  common  charities  of  life?  because  his  idle  vanity 
may  have  been  offended  by  the  neglect  or  indifference 
of  his  companions,  wHl  never  find,  and  cannot  become, 
a  real  friend.  There  is  also  an  inferior  order  of  fops 
in  literature,  (if  any  order  can  be  inferior  to  that  which 
I  have  last  described,)  who  carry  with  them,  wherever 
they  go,  a  collection  of  their  latest  compositions,  and 
by  importunately  reading  them  to  every  one  they  meet, 
and  expecting  an  unreserved  approbation  of  their  merits, 
render  themselves  so  unpleasantly  troublesome  on  all 
occasions  that,  instead  of  conciliating  the  least  regard 
or  esteem,  their  very  approach  is  dreaded  as  much  as  a 
pestilence  or  a  famine.  Every  man  of  real  genius  will 
shun  this  false  ambition  of  gratifying  vanity  by  forced 
applause;  because  he  will  immediately  perceive,  that 
instead  of  gaining  the  hearts  of  his  auditors,  he  only 
exposes  himself  to  the  ridicule,  and  loses  all  chance  of 
their  esteem. 

The  disadvantages,  however,  which  studious  charac- 
ters have  been  described  to  experiezice  from  habits  of 


OP  SOLITUDE.  199 

solitary  seclusion,  and  by  neglecting  the  manners  of 
society,  must  not  be  indiscriminately  applied.  It  is  the 
morose  and  surly  pedant,  who  sits  silently  in  his  soli- 
tary study,  and  endeavors  to  enforce  a  character 
for  genius  in  opposition  to  nature,  who  adopts  the 
mean  and  unworthy  arts  of  jealousy,  suspicion,  and 
dishonest  praise.  Far  different  the  calm,  happy,  and 
honorable  life  of  him  who,  devoted  to  the  cultivation 
of  a  strong  understanding,  and  the  improvement  of  a 
feeling  heart,  is  enabled,  by  his  application  and  genius, 
to  direct  the  taste  of  the  age  by  his  liberality  ofspirit, 
to  look  on  his  equals  without  jealousy,  and  his  superiors 
with  admiration  ;  and,  by  his  benevolence,  to  feel  for 
the  multitude  he  instructs,  indulgence  and  affection; 
who,  relying  on  the  real  greatness  of  his  temper,  makes 
no  attempt  to  increase  his  importance  by  low  raillery  or 
unfounded  satire  ;  whose  firm  temper  never  sinks  into 
supine  indolence,  or  grovelling  melancholy ;  who  only 
considers  his  profession  as  the  means  of  meliorating 
mankind ;  who  perseveres  in  the  cause  of  truth  with 
cheerful  rectitude,  and  virtuous  dignity:  whose  intel- 
lectual resources  satisfactorily  supply  the  absence  of 
society ;  whose  capacious  mind  enables  him  to  increase 
his  stores  of  useful  knowledge ;  whose  discriminating 
powers  enable  him  to  elucidate  the  subject  he  explores: 
who  feels  as  great  a  delight  in  promoting  the  beneficial 
discoveries  of  others,  as  in  executing  nis  own ;  and 
who  regards  his  professional  contemporaries,  not  as 
jealous  rivals,  but  as  generous  friends,  striving  to  emu- 
late each  other  in  the  noble  pursuits  of  science,  and  in 
the  laudable  task  of  endeavoring  to  improve  the  morals 
of  mankind. 

Characters  of  this  description,  equally  venerable  and 
happy,  are  numerous  in  Europe,  both  within  and  with- 
out the  shades  of  academic  bovvers,  and  afford  examples 
which,  notwithstanding  the  tribe  of  errors  and  absur- 
dities solitude  occasionally  engenders,  should  induce 
men  of  worldly  pleasures  to  repress  the  antipathies 
they  are  in  general  inclined  to  feel  against  persons  of 
studious  and  retired  lives. 


200  INFLUENCE  OF  SOLITUDE 

CHAPTER  IV. 

The  influence  of  solitude  on  the  imagination. 

THE  powers  of  imagination  are  great ;  and  the  effects 
produced  by  them,  under  certain  circumstances,  upon 
the  minds  of  men  of  warm  and  sensible  tempers,  extra- 
ordinary and  surprising.  Multitudes  have  been  induced 
by  perturbed  imaginations,  to  abandon  the  gay  and 
cheerful  haunts  of  men,  and  to  seek,  in  dreary  desola- 
tion, comfort  and  repose.  To  such  extremes  has  this 
faculty,  when  distorted,  hurried  its  unhappy  subjects, 
that  they  have  endured  the  severest  mortification,  de- 
nied themselves  the  common  benefits  of  nature,  ex- 
posed themselves  to  the  keenest  edge  of  winter's  cold, 
and  the  most  scorching  rays  of  summer's  heat,  and  in- 
dulged their  distempered  fancies  in  the  wildest  chime- 
ras. These  dreadful  effects  appear,  on  a  first  view,  to 
be  owing  to  some  supernatural  cause,  and  they  agitate 
our  senses,  and  confuse  the  understanding,  as  pheno- 
mena beyond  the  comprehension  of  reason:  but  the 
wonder  vanishes  when  the  cause  is  coolly  ana  careful- 
ly explored  ;  and  the  extravagances  are  traced  up  to 
their  real  source,  and  natural  organization  of  man. 
The  wild  ideas  of  the  hermit  Anthony,  who.  in  his 
gloomy  retreat,  fancied  that  Beelzebub  appeared  to  him 
in  the  form  of  a  beautiful  female  to  torture  his  senses, 
and  disturb  his  repose,  originated  in  his  natural  cha- 
racter and  disposition.  His  distempered  fancy  conjured 
tip  a  fiend,  which,  in  fact,  existed  in  his  unsubdued  pas- 
sions and  incontinent  desires. 

From  the  enchanting  cup 

Which  fancy  holds  to  all,  the  unwary  thirst 
Of  youth  oft  swallows  a  Circaean  draught, 
That  sheds  a  baleful  tincture  olpr  the  eye 
Of  reason,  til!  no  longer  he  discerns, 
And  only  lives  to  err :  then  revel  forth 
A  furious  band,  that  spurn  him  from  the  throne, 
And  all  is  uproar.    Hence  the  fevered  heart 
Pants  with  delirious  hope  for  tinsel  charms. 

Solitude  excites  and  strengthens  the  powers  of  the 
imagination  to  an  uncommon  degree,  and  thereby  en 
feebles  the  effect  of  the  controlling  powers  of  reason. 
The  office  of  the  latter  faculty  of  the  mind  is,  to  exa- 
mine with  nice  discernment  and  scrupulous  attention,  to 
compare  the  several  properties  of  thoughts  and  things 


ON  THE  IMAGINATION.  201 

with  each  other,  and  to  acquire,  by  cool  and  deliberate 
investigation,  correct  ideas  of  their  combinations  and 
effects.  The  exercise  of  their  power  suspends  the  ve- 
hemence of  action,  and  abates  the  ardor  of  desire :  but 
fancy  performs  her  airy  excursions  upon  light  and  va- 
grant wings,  and  flying  around  her  objects  without  ex- 
amination, embraces  every  pleasing  image  with  in- 
creasing delight.  Judgment  separates  and  associates 
the  ideas  the  mind  has  gained  by  sensation  and  reflec- 
tion, and  by  determining  their  agreement  or  disagree- 
ment, searches  after  truth  through  the  medium  of  pro- 
bability ;  but  the  imagination  employs  itself  in  raising 
unsubstantial  images,  and  portraying  the  form  of 
things  unknown  in  nature,  and  foreign  to  truth.  It  has, 
indeed,  like  memory,  the  power  of  reviving  in  the  mina 
the  ideas  which,  after  having  been  imprinted  there,  have 
disappeared :  but  it  differs  from  that  faculty  by  altering, 
enlarging,  diversifying,  and  frequently  distorting,  the 
subjects  of  its  power. 

It  bodies  forth  the  form  of  things  unknown, 
And  gives  to  airy  nothings 
A  local  habitation  and  a  name. 

But  the  irregular  and  wild  desires  which  seize  upon 
the  mind  through  the  avenues  of  an  untamed  fancy 
and  disordered  imagination,  are  not  exclusively  the 
produce  of  solitude.  The  choice  of  wisdom  or  folly  is 
offered  to  us  in  all  places,  and  under  every  circum- 
stance 5  but  the  mind  of  man.  is  unhappily  prone  to  that 
which  is  least  worthy  of  it.  1  shall  therefore  endeavor 
to  show,  by  some  general  observations,  in  what  in- 
stanc.es  solitude  is  most  likely  to  create  those  flights  of 
imagination  which  mislead  the  mind,  and  corrupt  the 
heart. 

Imagination  is  said  to  be  the  simple  apprehension  of 
corporeal  objects  when  they  are  absent ;  which  absence 
of  the  object  it  contemplates,  distinguishes  this  faculty 
from  sensation,  and  has  occasioned  some  metaphy- 
sicians to  call  it  recorded  sensation.  Upon  the  due  re- 
gulation, and  proper  management,  of  this  great  and 
extraordinary  power  of  the  mind,  depends,  in  a  great 
measure,  the  happiness  or  misery  of  life.  It  ought  to 
consist  of  a  happy  combination  of  those  ideas  we  re- 
ceive through  the  organs  of  bodily  sense,  and  those 
which  we  derive  from  the  faculties  of  moral  perception ; 
but  it  too  frequently  consists  of  a  capricious  and  ill" 

•«•» 


202  INFLUENCE  OF  SOLITUDE 

formed  mixture  of  heterogeneous  images,  which 
though  true  in  themselves,  are  false  in  the  way  they 
are  applied.  Thus  a  person,  the  circulation  of  whose 
blood  in  any  particular  member  is  suddenly  stopped, 
imagines  that  needles  are  pricking  the  disordered  part. 
The  sensation  in  this  case  is  real,  but  the  conclusion 
from  it  is  fallacious.  So  in  every  mental  illusion,  ima- 
gination, when  she  first  begins  to  exercise  her  powers, 
seizes  on  some  fact,  of  the  real  nature  of  which  the 
mind  has  but  an  obscure  idea,  and,  for  want  of  tracing 
it  through  all  its  connexions  and  dependences,  misleads 
reason  into  the  darkest  paths  of  error.  The  wild  con- 
jectures, and  extravagant  opinions  which  have  issued 
from  this  source  are  innumerable.  The  imagination 
receives  every  impulse  with  eagerness,  while  the  pas- 
sions crowd  around  her  splendid  throne,  obedient  to 
her  dictates.  They  act,  indeed,  reciprocally  on  each 
other.  The  imagination  pours  a  concourse  of  contrary 
ideas  into  the  mind,  and  easily  disregards,  or  reconciles 
their  incongruities.  The  voice  of  the  calm  inquirer, 
reason,  is  incapable  of  being  heard  amidst  the  tumult ; 
and  the  favorite  image  is  animated  and  enlarged  by  the 
glowing  fire  of  the  passions.  No  power  remains  to 
control  or  regulate,  much  less  to  subdue,  this  mental 
ray,  which  inflames  the  whole  soul,  and  exalts  it  into 
the  fervor  of  enthusiasm,  hurries  it  into  the  extrava- 
gance of  superstition:  or  precipitates  it  into  the  furious 
frenzies  of  fanaticism. 

The  powerful  tumult  feigns  in  every  part, 
Pants  in  the  breast,  and  swells  the  rising  heart. 

Enthusiasm  is  that  ecstacy  of  the  mind,  that  lively 
transport  of  the  soul,  which  is  excited  by  the  pursuit 
or  contemplation  of  some  great  and  noble  object,  the 
novelty  of  which  awakens  attention,  the  truth  of  which 
fixes  the  understanding,  and  the  grandeur  of  which,  by 
firing  the  fancy,  engages  the  aid  of  every  passion,  and 
prompts  the  mind  to  the  highest  undertakings.  A  just 
and  rightly  formed  enthusiasm  is  founded  in  reason, 
and  supported  by  nature,  and  carries  the  mind  above 
its  ordinary  level,  into  the  unexplored  regions  of  art 
and  science.  The  rational  enthusiast,  indeed,  rises  to 
an  elevation  so  far  above  the  distinct  view  of  vulgar 
eyes,  that  common  understandings  are  apt  to  treat  him 
either  with  blind  admiration,  or  cool  contempt,  only  be- 
cause they  are  incapable  of  comprehending  his  real 


ON  THE  IMAGINATION.  203 

character ;  and  while  some  bow  to  him  as  an  extraor- 
dinary genius,  others  rail  at  him  as  an  unhappy  lunatic. 
The  powers  of  enthusiasm,  however,  when  founded 
upon  proper  principles,  so  strengthen  and  invigorate 
the  faculties  of  the  mind,  as  to  enable  it  to  resist  danger 
undismayed,  and  to  surmount  difficulties  that  appear 
irresistible.  Those,  indeed,  who  have  possessed  them- 
selves of  this  power  to  any  extraordinary  degree,  have 
been  considered  as  inspired,  and  their  great  achieve- 
ments conceived  to  have  been  directed  by  councils, 
and  sustained  by  energies  of  a  divine  or  super-mundane 
nature.  Certain  it  is,  that  we  owe  to  the  spirit  of  en- 
thusiasm whatever  is  great  in  art,  sublime  in  science, 
or  noble  in  the  human  character :  and  the  elegant  and 
philosophic  Lord  Shaftsburv,  while  he  ridicules  the 
absurdities  of  this  wonderfully  powerful  and  extensive 
quality,  admits  that  it  is  impossible  to  forbear  ascribing 
to  it  whatever  is  greatly  performed  by  heroes,  states- 
men, poets,  orators,  and  even  philosophers  themselves  : 
and  who  that  is  not  contented  to  wallow  in  the  mire 
of  gross  sensuality,  would  not  quit  the  noisy  scenes  of 
tumultuous  dissipation,  and  repair  with  joy  and  glad- 
ness to  solitary  shades,  to  the  bower  of  tranquillity,  and 
the  fountain  of  peace,  to  majestic  forests,  and  to  ver- 
dant groves,  to  acquire  this  necessary  ingredient  to 
perfect  excellence  ?  Who  would  not  willingly  pierce 
the  pensive  gloom,  or  dwell  among  the  brighter  glories 
of  the  golden  age,  to  acquire  by  a  warm  and  glowing-, 
but  correct  and  chaste  contemplation  of  the  beautiful 
and  sublime  works  of  nature,  these  ravishing  sensa- 
tions, and  gain  this  noble  fervor  of  the  imagination  ? 
A  proper  study  of  the  works  of  nature  amidst  the  ro- 
mantic scenery  of  sylvan  solitude,  is  certainly  the  most 
likely  means  of  inspiring  the  mind  with  true  enthu- 
siasm, and  leading  genius  to  her  most  exalted  heights ; 
but  the  attempt  is  dangerous.  There  are  few  men  in 
whose  minds  airy  notions  do  not  sometimes  tyrannize. 
"  To  indulge  the  power  of  fiction,"  says  a  celebrated 
writer,  "  and  send  imagination  out  upon  the  wing,  is 
often  the  sport  of  those  who  delight  too  much  in  silent 
speculation.  When  we  are  alone,  we  are  not  always 
busy ;  the  labor  of  excogitation  is  too  violent  to  last 
long;  the  ardor  of  inquiry  will  sometimes  give  way  to 
idleness  or  satiety.  He  who  has  nothing  external  that 
can  divert  him,  must  find  pleasure  in  his  own  thoughts, 
and  must  conceive  himself  what  he  is  not ;  for  who  is 
pleased  with  what  he  is  ?  He  then  expatiates  in  bound- 


204  INFLUENCE   OF  SOLITUDE 

less  futurity,  and  culls  from  all  imaginable  conditions 
that  which  for  the  present  moment  he  should  most  de- 
sire, amuses  his  desires  with  impossible  enjoyments, 
and  confers  upon  his  pride  unattainable  dominion. 
The  mind  dances  from  scene  to  scene,  unites  all  plea- 
sures in  all  combinations,  riots  in  delights  which  nature 
and  fortune,  with  all  their  bounty,  cannot  bestow.  In 
time  some  particular  train  of  ideas  fixes  the  attention-; 
all  other  intellectual  gratifications  are  rejected ;  the 
mind  in  weariness  or  leisure,  recurs  constantly  to  the 
favorite  conception,  and  feasts  on  the  luscious  falsehood 
whenever  she  is  offended  with  the  bitterness  of  truth. 
By  degrees  the  reign  of  fancy  is  confirmed  ;  she  grows 
first  imperious,  and  in  time  despotic :  then  fictions  be- 
gin to  operate  as  realities,  false  opinions  fasten  on  the 
mind,  and  life  passes  in  dreams  of  rapture  or  of  anguish. 
This  is  one  of  the  dangers  of  solitude. 

These  observations  lead  us  to  consider  the  character 
of  the  fanatical  visionary,  who  feels,  like  the  happy  en- 
thusiast, the  same  agitation  of  passion,  and  the  same 
inflammation  of  mind  ;  but  as  the  feelings  of  one  are 
founded  upon  knowledge,  truth,  and  nature,  so  the  feel- 
ings of  the  other  are  the  result  of  ignorance  and  error, 
and  all  the  glittering  meteors  of  his  brain  the  effects  of 
imposture  and  deception.  Of  this  species  of  enthusiasm 
Mr.  Locke  gives  the  following  description  :  "  In  all  ages 
men  in  whom  melancholy  has  mixed  with  devotion,  or 
whose  conceit  of  themselves  has  raised  them  into  au 
opinion  of  a  greater  familiarity  with  God,  and  a  nearer 
admittance  to  his  favors,  than  is  afforded  to  others, 
have  often  flattered  themselves  with  a  persuasion  of  an 
immediate  intercourse  with  the  Deity,  and  frequent 
communication  with  his  divine  spirit.  Their  minds 
being  thus  prepared,  whatever  groundless  opinion; 
comes  to  settle  itself  strongly  upon  their  fancies,  is  an 
illumination  from  the  Spirit  of  God,  and  whatever  odd 
action  they  find  in  themselves  a  strong  inclination  to 
do,  that  impulse  is  concluded  to  be  a  call  or  direction 
from  heaven,  and  must  be  obeyed ;  it  is  a  commission 
from  above,  and  they  cannot  err  in  executing  it.  This 
species  of  enthusiasm,  though  arising  from  the  conceit 
of  a  warm  and  overweening  brain,  works,  when  it  once 
gets  footing,  more  powerfully  on  the  persuasions  and 
actions  of  men  than  either  reason,  revelation,  or  both 
together ;  men  being  forvvardly  obedient  to  all  the  im- 
pulses they  receive  from  themselves."  The  fantastic- 
images,  indeed,  which  the  wildness  of  his  imagination 


ON  THE  IMAGINATION.  205 

creates,  subdues  his  reason,  and  destroys  the  best  affec- 
tions of  his  heart,  while  his  passions  take  the  part  of 
their  furious  assailants,  and  render  him  the  victim  of 
his  visionary  conceptions.  It  is  not,  however,  from 
sources  of  fanatical  devotion,  or  irrational  solitude,  that 
this  vicious  speciesof  enthusiasm  alone  arises.  The  fol- 
lies of  faquiers,  the  extravagance  of  orgaists,  the  ab- 
surdities of  hermits,  and  the  mummery  of  monks,  are 
not  more  enthusiastically  injurious  to  the  true  interests 
of  mankind,  or  more  pregnant  with  all  the  calamitous 
effects  of  this  baleful  vice,  than  those  unprincipled  sys- 
tems of  politics  and  morals  which  have  been  of  late 
years  obtruded  on  the  world,  and  in  which  good  sense 
is  sacrificed,  and  true  science  disgraced. 

The  growth  of  fanaticism,  whether  moral,  political, 
religious,  or  scientific,  is  not  confined  exclusively  to 
any  age  or  country;  the  seeds  of  it  have  been  but 
too  plentifully  sown  in  all  the  regions  of  the  earth  ;  and 
it  is  almost  equally  baneful  andT injurious  in  whatever 
soil  they  spring.  Every  bold,  turbulent,  and  intriguing 
spirit,  vvho  has  sufficient  artifice  to  inflame  the  passions 
of  the  inconstant  multitude,  the  moment  he  calls  the 
demon  of  fanatacism  to  his  aid,  becomes  troublesome, 
and  frequently  dangerous,  to  the  government  under 
which  he  lives.  Even  the  affectation  of  this  powerful 
but  pernici9us  quality,  is  able  to  produce  fermentations, 
highly  detrimental  to  the  peace  of  society.  In  the  very 
metropolis  of  Great  Britain,  and  among  the  enlightened 
inhabitants  of  that  kingdom,  Lord  George  Gordon,  in, 
the  present  age,  was  enabled,  by  assuming  the  hypocri- 
tical appearance  of  piety,  and  standing  forth  as  a  cham- 
pion of  a  religious  sect,  to  convulse  the  nation,  and  en- 
danger its  safety.  In  the  twenty-first  year  of  the  reign 
of  his  Britanic  Majesty,  the  present  powerful  and  illus- 
trious King  George  III.  an  act  of  parliament  was  pass- 
ed to  relieve  the  Roman  Catholics  residing  in  England 
from  the  penalties  and  disabilities  which  nad  been  im- 
posed on  them  at  the  revolution.  An  extension  of  the 
same  relief  to  the  Catholics  of  Scotland  was  also  said 
to  be  intended  by  parliament.  The  report  spread  an 
immediate  alarm  throughout  the  country ;  societies 
were  formed  for  the  defence  of  the  Protestant  faith ; 
committees  appointed,  books  dispersed,  and,  in  short, 
every  method  taken  to  inflame  the  zeal  of  the  people. 
These  attempts  being  totally  neglected  by  government, 
and  but  feebly  resisted  by  the  more  liberal  minded  in 
the  country,  produced  all  their  effects.  A  Curious  spirit 
18 


206  INFLUENCE   OP  SOLITUDE 

of  bigotry  and  persecution  soon  showed  itself,  and 
broke  out  into  the  most  outrageous  acts  of  violence 
against  the  Papists  at  Edinburgh,  Glasgow,  and  else- 
where ;  but  as  government  did  not  thinlf  it  advisable  to 
repress  this  spirit  =  by  force,  the  just  and  benevolent  in- 
tentions of  the  legislature  were  laid  aside.  The  suc- 
cessful resistance  of  the  zealots  in  Scotland  to  any  re- 
laxation of  the  penal  laws  against  the  Papists,  seems 
to  have  given  the  first  rise  to  the  Protestant  As- 
sociation in  England;  for  about  the  same  time  bills 
were  dispersed,  and  advertisements  inserted  in  the 
newspapers,  inviting  those  who  wished  well  to  the 
cause  to  unite  under  that  title ;  and  Lord  George  Gor- 
don, who  had  been  active  at  the  head  of  the  malcon- 
tents in  Scotland,  was  chosen  their  President.  The 
ferment  was  suffered  to  increase  during  a  course  of  se 
veral  years.  His  lordship  was  a  member  of  the  senate, 
and  his  extraordinary  conduct  in  the  house,  and  fre- 
quent interruption  he  gave  to  the  business  of  parlia- 
ment, as  well  as  the  unaccountable  manner  in  which 
he  continually  brought  in  and  treated  matters  relative 
to  religion  and  the  danger  of  popery,  and  the  caprice 
with  which  he  divided  the  house  upon  questions  where- 
in he  stood  nearly  or  entirely  alone,  were  passed  over, 
along  with  other  singularities  in  his  dress  and  manners, 
rather  as  subjects  oT  pleasantry  than  of  serious  notice 
or  reprehension.  On  Monday,  the  29th  of  May,  1780, 
a  meeting  was  held  at  Coachmaker's  Hall,  pursuant  to 
a  public  advertisement,  in  order  to  consider  of  the 
mode  of  presenting  a  petition  to  the  House  of  Com- 
mons. Lord  George  Gordon  took  the  chair ;  and,  after 
a  long  inflammatory  harangue,  in  which  he  endeavor- 
ed to  persuade  his  hearers  of  the  rapid  and  alarming 
progress  that  popery  was  making  in  the  kingdom,  he 
proceeded  to  observe,  that  the  only  way  to  stop  it,  was 
going  in  a  firm,  manly,  and  resolute  manner  to  the 
house  and  showing  their  representatives  that  they 
were  determined  to  preserve  their  religious  freedom 
with  their  lives ;  that,  for  his  part,  he  would  run  all 
hazards  with  the  people ;  and  if  the  people  were  too 
lukewarm  to  run  all  hazards  with  him,  when  their  con- 
science and  their  country  called  them  forth,  they  might 
fet  another  president,  for  that  he  would  tell  them  can- 
idly,  he  was  not  a  lukewarm  man  himself;  and  that, 
if  they  meant  to  spend  their  time  in  mock  debate,  and 
idle  opposition,  they  might  get  another  leader.  This 
speech  was  received  with  the  loudest  applause,  and  his 


ON   THfi  IMAGINATION.  207 

lordship  then  moved  the  following  resolution  :  "That 
the  whole  body  of  the  Protestant  Association  do  attend 
in  St.  George's  Fields,  on  Friday  next,  at  ten  o'clock 
in  the  morning,  to  accompany  their  president  to  the 
House  of  Commons  at  the  delivery  of  the  Protestant 
petition;"  which  was  carried  unanimously.  His  Lord- 
ship then  informed  them,  that  if  less  than  twenty 
thousand  of  his  fellow  citizens  attended  him  on  that 
day,  he  would  not  present  their  petition.  Accordingly, 
on  Friday,  the  2d  day  of  June,  1780,  at  ten  in  the  fore- 
noon, several  thousands  assembled  at  the  place  appoint- 
ed, marshalling  themselves  in  ranks,  and  waiting-  for 
their  leader,  who  arrived  about  an  hour  afterward, 
and  they  all  proceeded  to  the  houses  of  parliament. 
Here  they  began  to  exercise  the  most  arbitrary  power 
over  both  lords  and  commons,  by  obliging  almost  all 
the  members  to  put  blue  cockades  on  their  hats,  and 
call  out  "  no  popery !"  Some  they  compelled  to  take 
oaths  to  vote  for  the  repeal  of  this  obnoxious  act ; 
others  they  insulted  in  the  most  indecent  and  insolent 
manner.  They  took  possession  of  all  the  avenues  up 
to  the  very  door  of  both  houses  of  parliament,  which 
they  twice  attempted  to  force  open,  and  committed 
many  outrages  on  the  persons  of  the  members.  Nor 
were  they  dispersed,  or  the  remaining  members  able  to 
leave  their  seats,  until  a  military  force  arrived.  The 
houses  were  adjourned  to  the  19th  of  June.  But  so 
dreadful  a  spectacle  of  calamity  and  horror  was  never 
known  in  any  age  or  country,  as  that  which  the  me- 
tropolis of  England  exhibited  on  the  evening  and  the 
day  which  succeeded  this  seditious  congregation. 
These  astonishing  effects  produced  by  the  real  or  pre- 
tended fanaticism  of  a  simple  individual,  sufficiently 
display  the  power  of  this  dangerous  quality,  when  art- 
fully employed  to  inflame  the  passions  of  the  unthink- 
ing multitude.  But  it  is  worthy  of  observation,  that 
while  this  incendiary  sustained  among  his  followers 
the  character  of  a  pious  patriot,  of  a  man  without  the 
smallest  spot  or  blemish,  of  being,  in  short,  the  most 
virtuous  guardian  of  the  established  religion  of  the 
country,  he  regularly  indulged  his  holy  fervors,  and 
sanctified  appearances,  every  evening,  in  the  company 
of  common  prostitutes,  or  professed  wantons. 

The  fire  of  fanaticism  is,  indeed,  so  subtilely  power- 
ful, that  it  is  capable  of  inflaming  the  coldest  mind. 
The  mildest  and  the  most  rational  dispositions  have  been 
occasionally  injured  by  its  heat.  The  rapidity  of  its 


208  INFLUENCE  OF  SOLITUDE 

progress  certainly  depends,  in  a  great  degree,  on  the 
nature  of  the  materials  on  which  it  acts;  but,  like  every 
dangerous  conflagration,  its  first  appearances  should  be 
watched,  and  every  means  taken  to  extinguish  its 
flames.  The  extinction  is,  perhaps,  most  happily  and 
readily  effected  by  those  counteractions  which  the  com- 
mon occupations,  and  daily  duties  of  life  produce  on 
the  mind,  when  judiciously  opposed  to  this  flagrant 
evil.  Of  the  advantages,  at  least,  of  this  resource,  a 
circumstance  in  the  history  of  the  late  Dr.  Fothergill 
affords  a  remarkable  example.  This  celebrated  physi- 
cian possessed  the  greatest  tranquillity  of  mind,  and 
had  obtained  so  complete  a  dominion  over  his  passions, 
that  he  declared  to  a  friend,  recently  before  his  death, 
that  he  could  not  recollect  a  single  instance,  during 
the  whole  course  of  his  life,  in  which  they  had  been 
improperly  disturbed.  This  temper,  which  perfectly 
suited  to  the  character  of  the  religion  he  professed,  the 
tenets  of  which  he  strictly  practised,  he  maintained  on 
all  occasions;  nor  was  there  any  thing  in  his  general 
conduct  or  manner  that  betrayed  to  his  most  familiar 
friends  the  least  propensity  toward  enthusiasm;  and 
yet,  distant  as  the  suspicion  must  be,  under  these  cir- 
cumstances, that  he  should  ever  be  under  the  influence 
of  superstition,  it  is  well  known,  that  while  he  was  a 
student  at  Edinburgh,  where  he  was  distinguished  for 
the  mildness  of  his  manners  and  the  regularity  of  his 
conduct,  he  one  day,  in  an  eccentric  sally  of  fanaticism 
ran,  almost  entirely  naked  through  the  streets  of  that 
city,  warning  all  its  inhabitants  of  the  impending  wrath 
of  heaven ;  and  exhorting  them  in  the  most  solemn 
manner,  to  avert  the  approaching  danger,  by  humbly 
imploring  the  mercy  of  the  offended  Deity;  but  this  re- 
ligious paroxysm  was  of  short  duration.  He  was  at 
this  time  in  habits  of  intimacy  with  the  great  charac- 
ters who  then  filled  the  professional  chairs  of  the  uni- 
versity, and  ardently  engaged  in  the  pursuits  of  study ; 
and  the  exercises  which  Tiis  daily  tasks  required,  to- 
gether with  the  company  and  conversation  of  these 
rational,  well-informed,  and  thinking  men,  preserved 
his  reason,  and  soon  restored  him  to  the  full  and  free 
enjoyment  of  those  faculties,  from  which  both  science 
and  humanity  afterward  derived  so  many  benefits. 

The  conduct  of  St.  Francis,  commonly"  called  the 
holy  Francis  of  Assisi,  was  in  some  degree  similar; 
excepting  that  the  madness  of  this  fanatic  continued 
throughout  his  life,  while  the  delirium  of  Fotherg-ill 


ON  THE  IMAGINATION.  209 

lusted  but  a  day.  This  saint  was  born  at  Assisi.  in  the 
province  of  Umbria,  in  the  year  1182.  His  real  name 
of  baptism  was  John;  but,  on  account  of  the  facility 
with  which  he  acquired  the  French  language,  so  neces- 
sary at  that  time  in  Italy,  especially  for  the  business  for 
which  he  was  intended,  he  was  called  Francis.  He  is 
said  to  have  been  born  with  the  figure  of  a  cross  on  his 
right  shoulder,  and  to  have  dreamt  that  he  was  design- 
ed by  heaven  to  promote  the  interests  of  that  holy  sign. 
His  disposition  was  naturally  mild,  his  comprehension 
quick,  his  feelings  acute,  his  manners  easy,  his  imagi- 
nation vivid,  and  his  passions  inordinately  warm.  A 
careless  and  unrestrained  indulgence  of  the  propensi- 
ties of  youth  had  led  him  into  a  variety  of  vicious  habits 
and  libertine  extravagances,  until  the  solitude  to  which 
a  n't  of  sickness  confined  him,  brought  him  to  a  recol- 
lection, and  forced  him  to  rellect  upon  the  dangerous 
tendency  of  his  past  misconduct.  His  mind  started 
with  horror  at  the  dreadful  scene  his  retrospection  pre- 
sented to  his  view ;  and  he  resolved  to  quit  the  compa- 
ny of  his  former  associates,  to  reform  the  profligacy  of 
his  life,  to  restore  his  character,  and  to  save,  by  peni- 
tence and  prayer,  his  guilty  soul.  These  serious  reflec- 
tions wrought  so  powerfully  on  his  dejected  mind,  that 
he  fell  into  an  extravagant  kind  of  devotion,  more  re- 
sembling madness  than  religion.  Fixing  on  a  passage 
in  St.  Matthew,  in  which  our  Saviour  desires  his  apos- 
tles to  provide  neither  gold  nor  silver,  nor  brass  in  their 
purges;  nor  scrip  for  tlieir  journey  ;  neither  two  coats, 
•neither  shoes,  nor  yet  staves,  he  was  led  to  consider  a 
voluntary  and  absolute  poverty  as  the  essence  of  the 
gospel,  and  to  prescribe  this  poverty  as  a  sacred  rule, 
both  to  himself  and  to  the  few  who  followed  him.  He 
accordingly  wandered  through  the  streets  of  Assisi,  in 
garments  that  scarcely  concealed  his  nakedness,  in  or- 
der, as  he  said,  to  inure  himself  to  the  taunts  and  ridi- 
cule of  his  former  companions,  whom  he  now  called 
the  children  of  sin,  and  followers  of  satan.  The  father 
of  the  young  saint,  supposing,  from  these  extravagan- 
ces, that  the  sickness  under  which  he  had  so  long  la- 
bored had  disordered  his  intellects,  prepared  to  provide 
him  with  some  proper  place  of  confinement,  until  time 
or  medical  regimen  should  restore  him  to  his  right 
senses;  but  the  saint,  having  been  informed  of  his  fa- 
ther's friendly  intention, declined  his  parental  care,  and 
quitting  his  house,  sought  a  sanctuary  in  the  palace  of 
the  bishop  of  Assisi.  The  diocesan  immediately  sent 
18* 


210  INFLUENCE  OP   SOLmtDE 

to  the  father  of  the  fugitive,  and,  after  hearing  him 
upon  the  subject  of  his  right  to  provide  for  the  safety  of 
his  son,  he  turned  calmly  to  the  son  and  desired  him  to 
reply.  The  son  immediately  tore  off  the  tattered  gar- 
ments which  he  then  wore,  and  casting  them  with 
scorn  and  indignation  at  the  feet  of  his  astonished  pa- 
rent exclaimed,  "  there,  take  back  all  your  property. 
You  were,  indeed,  my  earthly  father  ;  but  henceforth  I 
disclaim  you ;  for  I  own  no  father  but  him  who  is  in 
heaven.  The  bishop,  either  really  or  affectedly  delight- 
ed with  this  unnatural  rant  of  the  young  enthusiast, 
threw  his  own  mantle  over  the  saint,  and  exhorted  him 
to  persevere  in  his  holy  resolution,  and  to  cherish  with 
increasing  ardor,  the  divine  inspiration  of  his  pious 
mind.  The  frantic  youth,  animated  by  the  warm  ap- 
probation of  tne  bishop  proceeded  in  his  religious 
course,  and  abandoning  the  city,  retired  into  the  deepest 
gloom  of  an  adjacent  forest,  to  indulge  the  fervors  of 
that  false  enthusiasm  which  had  overpowered  his  brain. 
In  this  retreat  a  second  vision  confirmed  him  in  his 
holy  office ;  and  being  encouraged  by  pope  Innocent 
III,  and  Honorius,  he  established,  in  the  year  12U9,  the 
Order  of  Saint  Francis.  If  this  ridiculous  enthusiast 
had  corrected  the  extravagances  of  his  overheated 
imagination,  by  a  cool  and  temperate  exercise  of  his 
reason,  by  studying,  like  the  celebrated  physician  we 
have  just  mentioned,  some  liberal  science,  he  might, 
with  the  talents  he  possessed,  have  become  a  really 
useful  member  of  society.  But  these  wild  shoots,  if 
suffered  to  grow  to  any  height,  cannot  afterward  be 
easily  eradicated:  and  even  Fothergill,  if  he  had  lived 
like  Francis,  in  an  age  of  superstitious  delusion,  and  had 
been  encouraged  ttTbelieve  the  truth  of  his  fanatic  con- 
ceptions, his  temporary  frenzy  might  have  continued 
through  life ;  and  his  character,  instead  of  being  re- 
vered as  a  promoter  of  an  useful  science,  have  been 
held  up  by  an  ignorant  multitude  to  the  contempt  and 
ridicule  of  posterity. 

The  vacancy  of  solitude,  by  leaving  the  mind  to  its 
own  ideas,  encourages  to  a  great  excess  these  wild  and 
eccentric  sallies  of  the  imagination.  He  who  has  an 
opportunity  to  indulge,  without  interruption  or  restraint 
the  delightful  musings  of  an  excursive  fancy,  will  soon 
lose  all  relish  for  every  other  pleasure,  and  neglect 
every  employment  which  tends  to  interrupt  the  gratifi- 
cation of  such  an  enchanting  though  dangerous  pro- 
pensity. During  the  quietude  of  a  sequestered  life, 


ON  THE  IMAGINATION.  211 

imagination  usurps  the  throne  of  reason,  and  all  the 
feeble  faculties  of  the  mind  obey  her  dictates,  until  her 
voice  becomes  despotic.  If  the  high  powers  be  exer- 
cised on  the  agreeable  appearances  of  nature,  and  the 
various  entertainments,  poetry,  painting,  music,  or  any 
of  the  elegant  arts,  are  capable  of  affording, 

....  Then  the  inexpressive  strain 
Diffuses  its  enchantment  ;  fancy  dreams 
Of  sacred  fountains,  and  elysian  groves, 
And  vales  of  bliss  ;  the  intellectual  Power 
Bends  from  his  awful  throne  a  wandering  ear, 
And  smites  ;  the  passions,  gently  smoothed  away, 
Sink  to  divine  repose,  and  love  and  joy 
Alone  are  waking. 

But  if  the  mind,  as  in  the  solitude  of  monastic  seclu- 
sion, fixes  its  attention  on  ascetic  subjects,  and  fires 
the  fancy  with  unnatural  legends,  the  soul,  instead  of 
sinking  to  divine  repose,  feels  a  morbid  melancholy 
and  discontented  torpor,  which  extinguishes  all  ra- 
tional reflection,  and  engenders  the  most  fantastic 
visions. 

Men  even  of  strong  natural  understandings,  highly 
improved  by  education,  have,  in  some  instances,  not 
been  able  to  resist  the  fatal  effects  of  intense  applica- 
tion, and  long  continued  solitude.  The  learned  Mola- 
nus,  having,  during  a  course  of  many  years,  detached 
his  mind  from  all  objects  of  sense,  neglected  all  season- 
able and  salutary  devotion,  and  giving  an  uncontrolled 
license  to  his  imagination  fancied,  in  the  latter  part  of 
his  life,  that  he  was  a  barley  corn;  and  although  he 
received  his  friends  with  great  courtesy  and  politeness, 
and  conversed  upon  subjects  both  of  science  and  devo- 
tion with  great  ease  and  ingenuity,  he  could  never  af- 
terward be  persuaded  to  stir  from  home,  lest,  as  he  ex- 
pressed his  apprehension,  he  should  be  picked  up  in  the 
street,  and  swallowed  by  a  fowl. 

The  female  mind  is  still  more  subject  to  these  delu- 
sions of  disordered  fancy ;  for,  as  their  feelings  are 
more  exquisite,  their  passions  warmer,  and  their  ima- 
ginations more  active  than  those  of  the  other  sex,  soli- 
tude, when  carried  to  excess,  affects  them  in  a  much 
greater  degree.  Their  bosoms  are  much  more  suscep- 
tible to  the  injurious  influence  of  seclusion,  to  the  con- 
tagion of  example,  and  to  the  dangers  of  illusion. 
This  may,  perhaps,  in  some  degree,  account  for  the  si- 
milarity of  disposition  which  prevails  in  cloisters,  and 


212  INFLUENCE   OF   SOLITUDE 

other  institutions  which  confine  women  entirely  to  the 
company  of  each  other.  The  force  of  example  and 
habit  is,  indeed,  in  such  retreats,  surprisingly  powerful. 
A  French  medical  writer,  of  great  merit,  and  undoubt- 
ed veracity,  relates,  that  in  a  convent  oi  nuns,  where 
the  sisterhood  was  unusually  numerous,  one  of  those 
secluded  fair  ones  was  seized  with  a  strange  impulse 
to  mew  like  a  cat ;  that  several  others  of  the  nuns  in  a 
short  time  followed  her  example ;  and  that  at  length 
this  unaccountable  propensity  became  general  through- 
out the  convent ;  the  whole  sisterhood  joined,  at  stated 
periods,  in  the  practice  of  mewing,  and  continued  it 
for  several  hours.  But  of  all  the  extraordinary  fancies 
recorded  of  the  sex,  none  can  exceed  that  which  Car- 
dan relates  to  have  happened  in  one  of  the  convents  of 
Germany,  during  the  fifteenth  century.  One  of  the 
nuns,  who  had  lon»  been  secluded  from  the  sight  of 
man,  was  seized  with  the  strange  propensity  to  Bite  all 
her  companions ;  and  extraordinary  as  it  may  seem, 
this  disposition  spread  until  the  whole  house  was  infect- 
ed with  the  same  fury.  The  account,  indeed,  states, 
that  this  mania  extended  even  beyond  the  walls  of  the 
convent,  and  that  the  disease  was  conveyed  to  such  a 
degree  from  cloister  to  cloister,  throughout  Germany. 
Holland,  and  Italy,  that  the  practice  at  length  prevailed 
in  every  female  convent  in  Europe. 

The  instances  of  the  pernicious  influence  of  a  total 
dereliction  of  society,  may  possibly  appear  to  the  un- 
derstandings of  the  present  generation  extravagant  and 
incredible ;  but  they  are  certainly  true ;  and  many 
others  of  a  similar  nature  might  be  adduced  from  the 
most  authentic  histories  of  trie  times.  The  species, 
when  prevented  from  enjoying  a  free  intercourse  and 
rational  society  with  each  other,  almost  change  their 
nature ;  and  the  mind,  feeding  continually  on  The  me- 
lancholy musings  of  the  imagination,  in  the  cold  and 
cheerless  regions  of  solitude,  engenders  humors  of  the 
most  eccentric  cast.  Excluded  from  those  social  com- 
munications which  nature  enjoins,  with  the  means  of 
gratifying  the  understanding,  amusing  the  senses,  or  in- 
teresting the  affections,  fancy  roves  at  large  into  unknown 
spheres,  and  endeavors  to  find  in  ideal  forms  entertain- 
ment and  delight.  Angelic  visions,  infernal  phantoms, 
amazing  prodigies,  the  delusions  of  alchemy,  the  fren- 
zies of  philosophy,  and  the  madness  of  metaphysics, 
fill  the  disordered  brain.  The  intellect  fastens  "upon 


ON  THE  IMAGINATION.  213 

some  absurd  idea,  and  fosters  it  with  the  fondest  affec- 
tion, until  its  increasing  magnitude  subdues  the  re- 
maining powers  of  sense  and  reason.  The  slightest 
retrospect  into  the  conduct  of  the  solitary  professors 
of  every  religious  system,  proves  the  lamentable  dan- 
gers to  which  they  expose  their  mental  faculties,  by  ex- 
cluding themselves  from  the  intercourse  of  rational  so- 
ciety. From  the  prolific  womb  of  solitude  sprung  all 
the  mysterious  ravings  and  senseless  doctrines  of  the 
New  Platonists.  The  same  cause  devoted  the  monks 
and  anchorites  of  the  Christian  church  to  folly  and  fa- 
naticism. Fakirs,  B ram  ins,  and  every  other  tribe  of 
religious  enthusiasts,  originated  from  the  same  source. 
By  abandoning  the  pleasures  of  S9ciety,  and  renouncing 
the  feelings  of  nature,  they  sacrificed  reason  upon  the 
altar  of  superstition,  and  supplied  its  place  vvith  ecsta- 
tic fancies,  and  melancholy  musings.  There  is  nothing 
more  evident,  than  that  our  holy  religion,  in  its  origi- 
nal constitution,  was  set  so  far  apart  from  all  refined 
speculations,  that  it  seemed  in  a  manner  diametrically 
opposite  to  them.  The  great  founder  of  Christianity 
gave  one  simple  rule  of  life  to  all  men ;  but  his  disci- 
ples, anxious  to  indulge  the  natural  vanity  of  the  hu- 
man mind,  and  misled,  in  some  degree,  by  the  false 
philosophy  which  at  that  period  overspread  the  heathen 
world,  introduced  various  doctrines  of  salvation,  and 
new  schemes  of  faith.  Bigotry,  a  species  of  supersti- 
tion never  known  before,  took  place  in  men's  affections, 
and  armed  them  with  new  jealousies  against  each 
other :  barbarous  terms  and  idioms  were  every  day  in- 
vented ;  monstrous  definitions  imposed,  and  hostilities, 
the  fiercest  imaginable,  exercised  on  each  other  by  the 
contending  parties.  Fanaticism,  with  all  the  train  of 
visions,  prophecies,  dreams,  charms,  miracles,  and  ex- 
orcises, succeeded ;  and  spiritual  feats,  of  the  most  ab- 
surd and  ridiculous  nature,  were  performed  in  monas- 
teries, or  up  and  down,  by  their  mendicant  or  itinerant 
priests  and  ghostly  missionaries.  Solitude  impressed 
the  principles  upon  which  these  extravagances  were 
founded,  \yith  uncommon  force  on  the  imagination ; 
and  the  mind,  working  itself  into  holy  fervors  and  in- 
spirations, give  birth  to  new  extravagances.  The 
causes  which  operated  on  the  minds  of  men  to  produce 
such  ridiculous  effects,  acted  with  double  force  on  the 
ardent  temper,  warm  imagination,  and  excessive  sensi- 
bjlity  of  the  female  worfd.  That  which  was  mere 
fantasy  with  the  one  sex,  became  frenzy  with  tbs 


21-t  INFLUENCE    OF  SOLITCTJE 

other.  Women,  indeed,  are,  according  to  the  opinion 
of  Plato,  the  nurses  of  fanaticism ;  and  their  favorite 
theme  is  that  which  has  been  dignified  by  the  appella- 
tion of  a  sublime  passion  for  poetry :  an  ardent,  refined 
love  of  heaven ;  but  which,  in  fact,  is  only  the  natural 
effects  of  the  heart,  swollen  intuineseently  by  an  un- 
reined, prolific,  and  too  ardent  imagination.  Instances 
of  this  kind  are  discoverable  in  all  the  accounts  that 
have  -been  published  of  the  holy  fervors  of  these 
penitents,  particularly  in  those  of  Catharine  of  Si- 
enna, of  Joan  of  Cambray,  of  Angelina  of  Foligny,  of 
Matilda  of  Saxony,  of  Maria  of  the  Incarnation,  of 
Mary  Magdalen  of  Pazzio,  of  Gertrude  of  Saxony,  and 
many  others.  The  celebrated  Armelle,  who  was  born 
in  the  year  1696,  at  Campenac,  in  the  diocess  of  St. 
Malo,  and  who  died  at  Vannes  in  the  year  1671,  possess- 
ed great  personal  beauty,  a  quick  and  lively  mind,  and 
an  uncommon  tenderness  of  heart.  Her  parents,  who 
were  honest  and  industrious  villagers,  placed  her  as  a 
menial  servant  in  the  house  of  a  neighboring  gentleman, 
with  whom  she  lived  for  five  and  thirty  years  in  the 
practice  of  the  most  exemplary  piety  and  extraordinary 
virtus,  at  least,  according  to  the  accounts  which  he  gave 
from  time  to  time  of  her  conduct.  During  the  time 
she  resided  with  this  gentleman,  his  groom,  finding  the 
kitchen  door  fastened,  had  the  curiosity  to  peep  through 
the  key-hole,  where  he  discovered  the  pious  maid,  in  a 
paroxysm  of  divine  ecstacy,  performing  the  humble 
office  of  spitting  a  capon.  The  agitation  of  this  holy 
Sjiirit  so  affected  the  mind  of  the  astonished  youth, 
that,  it  is  said  by  the  Ursuline  sister  who  has  written 
the  life  of  this  great  luminary  of  French  sanctity,  un- 
der the  title  of  The  school  for  the  love  of  God,  he  be- 
came immediately  enamored  with  the  beauties  of  reli- 
gion, and  renouncing  the  pomps  and  vanities  of  the 
world,  entered  into  a  monastery,  at  the  same  time  that 
his  holy  companion  thought  proper  to  withdraw  from 
future  observation  into  the  convent  of  Vannes,  where 
she  devoted  the  remainder  of  her  life,  and  died,  as  it  is 
reported,  in  an  excess  of  divine  love.  The  youthfuT 
davsof  Armelle  had  been  passed  in  almost  total  solitude ; 
for  her  occupation  at  the  house  in  which  she  was  placed 
by  her  parents,  was  confined  entirely  to  the  kitchen,  and 
she  had  scarcely  any  other  intercourse  than  with  its  fur- 
niture. It  appears,  however,  from  the  history  of  her  life, 
that  she  was  from  her  childhood  excessively  fond  01 
reciting  an  ave  or  paternoster  j  and  whib  occupied  in 


ON  THE  IMAGINATION.  215 

tending  the  flocks,  her  original  employment,  amused 
herself  in  telling  her  rosary;  "  by  which  means,"  says 
the  Ursuline  sister,  "she  made,  even  in  her  pastoral 
state  of  simplicity  and  ignorance,  such  great  advances 
in  divine  love  that,  the  nrst  moment  she  was  allowed 
to  pay  her  adoration  to  the  crucifix  the  fervency  of 
her  pious  passion  burst  forth  with  such  ecstacy,  that 
she  eagerly  snatched  the  holy  object  to  her  arms,  and 
embraced  it  with  a  transport  so  warmly  affectionate, 
that  streams  of  tenderness  rushed  from  her  eyes." 

It  is  truly  said  by  a  celebrated  English  writer,  to  be 
"of  the  utmost  importance  to  guard  againt  extremes 
of  every  kind  in  religion.  We  must  beware  lest  by 
seeking  to  avoid  one  rock  we  split  upon  another.  It 
has  been  long  the  subject  of  remark,  that  superstition 
and  enthusiasm  are  two  capital  sources  of  delusion : 
superstition,  on  the  one  hand,  attaching  men  with  im- 
moderate zeal  to  the  ritual  and  external  points  of  reli- 
gion ;  and  enthusiasm,  on  the  other,  directing  their 
whole  attention  to  internal  emotions  and  mystical  com- 
munications with  the  spiritual  world ;  while  neither 
the  one  nor  the  other  had  paid  sufficient  regard  to  the 
great  moral  duties  of  the  Christain  life.  But  running1 
with  intemperate  eagerness  from  these  two  great 
abuses  of  religion,  men  have  neglected  to  observe  that 
there  are  extremes  opposite  to  each  of  them,  into  which 
they  are  in  hazard  of  precipitating  themselves.  Thus 
the  horror  of  superstition  has  sometimes  reached  so 
far  as  to  produce  contempt  for  all  external  institutions : 
as  if  it  were  possible  for  religion  to  subsist  in  the  world 
without  forms  of  worship,  or  public  acknowledgment 
of  God.  It  has  also  happened,  that  some,  who,  in  the 
main  are  well  affected  to  the  cause  of  goodness,  observ- 
ing that  persons  of  a  devout  turn  have  at  times  been 
carried  away  by  warm  affections  into  unjustifiable  ex- 
cesses, have  thence  hastily  concluded  that  all  devotion 
was  akin  to  enthusiasm ;  and  separating  religion  totally 
from  the  heart  and  affections,  have  reduced  it  to  a  fri- 
gid observance  of  what  they  call  the  rules  of  virtue.'* 
These  extremes  are  to  be  carefully  avoided.  True  de- 
votion is  rational  and  well  founded ;  and  consists  in 
the  lively  exercise  of  that  affection  which  we  owe  to 
the  Supreme  Being,  comprehending  several  emotions 
of  the  heart,  which  all  terminate  in  the  same  great 
object. 

These  are  among  the  evils  which  an  irrational  soli- 
tude is  capable  of  producing  upon  an  unrestrained  and 


216  EFFECTS  OF  SOLITUDE 

misdirected  imagination  ;  but  I  do  not  mean  to  contend 
indiscriminately,  that  solitude  is  generally  to  be  consi- 
dered as  dangerous  to  the  free  indulgence  of  this  de- 
lightful faculty  of  the  mind.  Solitude,  well  chosen, 
and  rationally  pursued,  is  so  far  from  being  either  the 
open  enemy,  or  the  treacherous  friend  of  a  firm  and 
fine  imagination,  that  it  ripens  its  earliest  shoots, 
strengthens  their  growth,  and  contributes  to  the  pro- 
duction of  its  richest  and  most  valuable  fruits.  To  him 
who  has  acquired  the  happy  art  of  enjoying  in  solitude 
the  charms  of  nature,  and  of  indulging  the  powers  of 
fancy  without  impairing  the  faculty  of  reason 

.    .    .    Whate'er  adorns 
The  princely  dome,  the  column,  and  the  arch, 
The  breathing  marble,  and  the  sculptured  gold, 
Beyond  the  proud  possessor's  narrow  claim, 
His  happy  breast  enjoys.    For  him  the  spring 
Distils  her  dews,  and  from  the  silken  gem 
Its  lucid  leaves  unfolds :  for  him  the  hand 
Of  autumn  tinges  every  fertile  branch 
With  blooming  gold,  and  blushes  like  the  morn. 
Each  passing  hour  sheds  tribute  from  her  wings ; 
And  still  new  beauties  meet  his  lonely  walk, 
And  loves  unfelt  attract  him.    Not  a  breeze 
Flies  o'er  the  meadow  ;  not  a  cloud  imbibes 
The  setting  sun's  effulgence  ;  not  a  strain 
From  all  the  tenants  of  the  warbling  shade 
Ascends,  but  whence  his  bosom  can  partake 
Fresh  pleasyre,  unreproved.    Nor  thence  partake 
Fresh  pleasure  only :  for  the  attentive  mind, 
By  this  harmonious  action  on  her  powers, 
Becomes  herself  harmonious. 


CHAPTER  V. 

The  effect}  of  solitude  on  a  melancholy  mind. 

A  DISPOSITION  to  enjoy  the  silence  of  sequestered  soli- 
tude, and  a  glowing  distaste  of  the  noisy  tumults  of 
public  life,  are  the  earliest  and  most  general  symptoms 
of  approaching  melancholy.  The  heart,  on  which  fe 
licity  was  used  to  sit  enthroned,  becomes  senseless  to 
the  touch  of  pleasure ;  the  airy  wing  of  high  delight 
sinks  prostrate  to  the  earth  on  broken  pinions:  and 
care  and  anxiety,  chagrin,  and  regret,  load  the  mind 
with  distempering  ideas,  and  render  it  cheerless  and 
forlorn.  The  dawning  sun,  and  heaven  lighted  day, 
give  no  pleasure  to  the  sickened  senses  of  the  unhappy 


ON  A  SVIELANCHOL*  MIND.  217 

sufferer.  His  only  pleasure  is  to  "  commune  with  his 
own  griefs ;"  and  for  this  purpose  he  seeks  some  gloomy 
glen, 

"  Where  bitter  boding  melancholy  reigns 

O'er  heavy  sighs  and  care  disordered  thoughts," 

But  a  mind  thus  disposed,  however  it  may  for  a  time 
console  its  sorrows,  by  retiring  from  the  world,  thereby 
becomes  more  weak  and  helpless.  Solitude  in  such 
cases,  increases  the  disorder,  while  it  softens  its  effects. 
To  eradicate  the  seeds  of  this  dreadful  malady,  the 
imagination  should  be  impressed  with  some  new,  con- 
trary, and  more  powerful  bias  than  that  which  sways 
the  mind,  which  can  only  be  turned  from  its  course  of 
thought  by  shifting  the  object  of  its  reflection,  and  giv- 
ing entrance  to  new  desires.  A  melancholy  mind 
therefore,  should  be  weaned  by  degrees  from  its  dispo- 
sition to  solitude,  should  be  agreeably  interrupted  in 
its  musings,  and  be  induced  to  relish  the  varying  plea- 
sures of  the  world.  But,  above  all,  those  scenes  and 
subjects  which  have  any  connexion,  however  remotely, 
with  the  cause  of  the  complaint,  must  be  cautiously 
avoided.  The  seeds  of  this  dreadful  malady  are,  in 
general,  very  deeply  planted  in  the  constitution  of  the 
patient,  however  accidental  the  circumstances  may  be 
when  relieved  from  its  oppression,  is,  if  left  to  itself, 
always  in  danger  of  relapsinsr  into  its  former  habit. 
This  circumstance  aloue  is  sufficient  ta  show  how  un- 
friendly solitude  must  be  to  the  cure  of  this  complaint. 
If,  indeed,  the  patient  be  so  far  gone  as  to  leave  no  hope 
of  recovery ;  if  his  desponding  heart  be  incapable  of 
any  new  impression  ;  if  his  mind  forgoes  all  custom  of 
mirth;  if  he  refuse  to  partake  of  any  healthful  exercise 
or  agreeable  recreation :  and  the  soul  sinks  day  after 
day  into  deeper  dejection,  and  threatens  nature  with 
madness  or  with  death,  solitude  is  the  only  resource,. 
When  melancholy  seizes,  to  a  certain  degree,  the  mind 
of  an  Englishman,  it  almost  uniformly  leads  him  to  put 
a  period  to  his  existence ;  while  the  worst  effect  it  pro- 
duces on  a  Frenchman,  is  to  induce  him  to  Jurn  Car- 
thusian. Such  dissimilar  effects,  proceeding  from"  ftie 
operation  of  the  same  cause,  in  different  persons,  can 
only  be  accounted  for  from  the  greater  opportunities 
which  there  is  in  France  than  in  England  to  hide  the 
sorrow?  of  the  mind  from  the  inspection  of  the  world. 
An-  English-  hypochondriac  would,  perhaps,  seldom  de- 
ll) 


218  EFFECTS  OF   SOLITUDE. 

stroy  himself,  if  there  were  in  England  any  monastic 
institution  to  which  he  could  fly  from  the  eye  of  pub- 
lic observation. 

The  mind,  in  proportion  as  it  loses  its  proper  tone, 
and  natural  elasticity,  decreases  in  its  attachments  to 
society,  and  wishes  to  recede  from  the  world  and  its 
concerns.  There  is  no  disorder  of  the  mind,  among 
all  the  various  causes  by  which  it  may  be  affected,  that 
destroys  its  force  and  activity  so  entirely  as  melan- 
choly. It  unties,  as  it  were,  all  the  relations,  both  phy- 
sical and  moral,  of  which  society,  in  its  most  perfect 
state,  consists,  and  sets  the  soul  free  from  all  sense  of 
obligation.  The  private  link  which  unites  the  species 
is  destroyed ;  all  inclination  to  the  common  intercourse 
of  life  is  lost  5  and  the  only  remaining  disposition  is  for 
solitude.  It  is  for  this  reason  that  melancholy  persons 
are  continually  advised  to  frequent  the  theatres,  mas- 
querades, operas,  balls,  and  other  places  of  public  diver- 
sion ;  to  amuse  themselves  at  home  with  cards,  dice, 
or  other  games ;  or  to  infuse  from  the  eyes  of  female 
beauty  new  life  into  their  drooping  souls.  Certain  it 
is,  that  great  advantages  may  be  derived  by  detaching 
the  mind  from  those  objects  by  which  it  is  tortured 
and  consumed  ;  but  to  run  indiscriminately,  and  with 
injudicious  eagerness,  into  the  pursuit  of  pleasures, 
without  any  predisposition  to  enjoy  them,  may  rather 
tend  to  augment  than  diminish  the  disease. 

The  eye  of  melancholy  views  every  object  on  its 
darkest  and  most  unfavorable  side,  and  apprehends 
disastrous  consequences  from  every  occurrence.  These 
gloomy  perceptions,  which  increase  as  the  feelings  be- 
come more  indolent,  and  the  constitution  more  nibrbid, 
bring  on  habitual  uneasiness  and  chagrin  upon  the 
mind,  and  render  every  injury,  however  small  and  tri- 
fling it  may  be,  irksome  and  insupportable.  A  settled 
dejection  ensues;  and  the  miserable  patient  avoids 
every  scene  in  which  his  musings  may  be  liable  to  in- 
terruption; the  few  enjoyments  he  is  yet  capable  of 
feeling  in  any  degree  impeded ;  or  which  may  call 
upon  him  to  make  the  slightest  exertion  ;  and  by  with- 
drawing himself  from  society  into  solitude,  neglects 
the  exercises  and  recreations  by  which  his  disease 
might  be  relieved.  Instead  of  endeavoring  to  enlight- 
en the  dark  gloom  which  involves  his  mind,  and  sub- 
dues his  soul,  by  regarding  with  a  favorable  eye  all 
that  gives  a  true  value  and  high  relish  to  men  of  sound 
lainds  and  lively  dispositions,  he  fondly  follows  the 


ON  A  MELANCHOLY  MIND.  glQ 

phantom  which  misleads  him.  and  thereby  sinks  him  • 
self  more  deeply  inta  the  moody  fanes  of  irremediable 
melancholy  :  and  if  the  bright  rays  of  life  and  happi- 
ness penetrate  by  chance  into  the  obscurity  of  his  re- 
treat instead  of  feeling  any  satisfaction  from  the  per- 
ception of  cheerfulness  and  content,  he  quarrels  with 
the  possessor  of  them,  and  converts  their  enjoyments 
into  subjects  of  grievance,  in  order  to  torment  himself. 
Unfavorable,  however,  as  a  dreary  and  disconsolate 
solitude  certainly  is  to  the  recovery  of  a  mind  labour- 
ing under  this  grievous  affliction,  it  is  far  preferable  to 
the  society  of  licentious  companions,  and  to  wild  scenes 
of  inebriating  dissipation.  Worldly  pleasures,  and  sen- 
sual gratifications  of  every  description,  when  intempe- 
rately  pursued,  only  drive  a  melancholy  mind  into  a 
more  abject  state  of  dejection.  It  is  from  rational  re- 
creation, and  temperate  pleasures  alone,  that  an  afflict- 
ed mind  can  receive  amusement  and  delight.  Theonly 
scenes  by  which  the  mudded  current  of  his  mind  can 
be  cleared,  or  his  stagnated  system  of  pleasure  refresh- 
ed, must  be  calm,  cheerful,  and  temperate,  not  gay. 
Melancholy  is  of  a  sedate  and  pensive  character,  and 
flies  from  whatever  is  hurrying  and  tumultuous.  How 
frequently  do  men  of  contemplative  dispositions  con- 
ceive a  distaste  for  the  world,  only  because  they  have 
unthinkingly  engaged  so  ardently  in  the  pursuits  of 
pleasure,  or  of  business,  that  they  have  been  prevented 
for  a  length  of  time,  from  collecting  their  scattered 
ideas,  and  indulging  their  natural  habits  of  reflection ! 
But  in  striving  to  reclaim  a  melancholy  mind,  it  is  ne- 
cessary to  attend  to  the  feelings  of  the  heart,  as  well  as 
the  peculiar  temper  of  the  mind.  A  gloomy,  disturbed, 
unquiet  mind,  is  highly  irritated,  and  its  disease  of 
course  increased,  by  the  company  and  conversation  of 
those  whose  senseless  bosoms  are  incapable  of  feeling 
the  griefs  it  endures,  or  the  complaints  it  utters.  This, 
indeed,  is  another  cause  which  drives  melancholy  per- 
sons from  society  into  solitude;  for  how  fevy  are  there 
whose  tenderness  leads  them  to  sympathize  with  a 
brother  in  distress,  or  to  contribute  a  kind  aid  to  eradi- 
cate the  thorns  which  rankle  in  his  heart !  Robust 
characters,  in  whose  bosoms  nature  has  planted  the  im- 
penetrable shield  of  unvarying  health,  as  well  as  those 
whose  minds  are  engrossed  by  thecharmsof  uninterrupt- 
ed prosperity,  can  form  no  idea  of  the  secret  but  severe 
agonies  which  shake  the  system  of  valetudinary  men : 
ROT  feel  any  compassion  for  the  tortures  which  accom- 


220  EFFECTS  OF  SOLITUDE 

pany  a  wounded  and  afflicted  spirit,  until  the  convulsive 
frame  proclaims  the  dreadful  malady,  or  increasing 
melancholy  sacrifices  its  victim  on  the  altar  of  self-de- 
struction. The  gay  associates  of  the  unfeeling  world 
view  a  companion  suffering  under  the  worst  of  nature's 
evils,  with  cold  indifference,  or  affected  concern;  or. 
in  the  career  of  pleasure,  overlook  the  miseries  he  feels 
until  they  hear  that  exhausted  wo  has  induced  him  to 
brave  the  anger  of  the  Almighty,  and  to  rush  from 
mortal  misery,  uncalled,  into  the  awful  presence  of  his 
Creator.  Dreadful  state !  The  secrecy  and  silence,  in- 
deed, with  which  persons  of  this  description  conceal 
the  pangs  that  torture  their  minds,  is  among  the  most 
dangerous  symptoms  of  the  disease.  It  is  not,  indeed, 
easy  to  hide  from  the  anxious  and  attentive  eye  of  real 
friendship  the  feelings  of  the  heart ;  but  to  the  careless 
and  indifferent  multitude  of  common  acquaintances, 
the  countenance  may  wear  the  appearance  not  only  of 
composure,  but  even  of  gayety,  while  the  soul  is  in- 
wardly suffering  the  keenest  anguish  of  unutterable  wp. 
The  celebrated  Carlini,  a  French  actor  of  great  merit, 
and  in  high  reputation  with  the  public,  for  the  life, 
whim,  frolic,  and  vivacity  with  which  he  nightly  en- 
tertained the  Parisian  audiences,  applied  to  a  physician 
to  whom  he  was  not  personally  known,  for  advice,  and 
represented  to  him  that  he  was  subject  to  attacks  of  the 
deepest  melancholy.  The  physician  advised  him  to 
amuse  his  mind  by  scenes  of  pleasure,  and  particularly 
directed  him  to  frequent  the  Italian  Comedy;  "for," 
continued  he,  "  your  distemper  must  be  rooted,  indeed, 
if  the  acting  of  the  lively  Carlini  does  not  remove  it." 
•"  Alas !"  exclaimed  the  unhappy  patient,  "  I  am  the 
very  Carlini  whom  you  recommend  me  to  see ;  and 
while  I  am  capable  of  filling  Paris  with  mirth  and 
laughter,  I  am  myself  the  dejected  victim  of  melancho- 
ly and  chagrin." 

Painful  as  it  may  be  to  a  person  who  is  laboring  un- 
der the  oppression  of  melancholy,  to  associate  with 
Ihose  who  are  incapable  of  sympathizing  with  his  feel- 
ings, or  who  neglect  to  compassionate  his  sufferings, 
yet  he  should  not  fly  from  the  presence  of  men  into 
solitude;  for  solitude  will  unavoidably  aggravate  and 
augment  his  distress  Inasmuch  as  it  tends  to  encourage 
that  musjng  and  soliloquy  to  which  melancholy  is  in- 
variably prone.  It  is  the  most  dangerous  resource  to 
ivhich  he  can  fly ;  for,  while  it  seems  to  promise  the 
fairest  hope  of  relief,  it  betrays  the  confidence  reposed 


ON  A  MELANCHOLY  MfttD,  gfcl 

in  It ;  and  instead  of  shielding  its  votary  from  that  con- 
flict which  disturbs  his  repose,  it  renders  him  defence- 
less, and  delivers  him  unarmed  to  his  bitterest  enemy. 

The  boldest  spirits  and  firmest  nerves  cannot  with- 
stand the  inroads  of  melancholy  merely  by  their  own 
strength.  It  damps  the  courage  of  the  most  enterpri- 
sing mind,  and  makes  him  who  was  before  upon  all  occa- 
sions, fearless  and  unavved,  shrink  even  from  the  pre- 
sence of  his  fellow  creatures.  Company  of  every  de- 
scription becomes  displeasing  to  him ;  he  dreads  the 
idea  of  visiting ;  and  if  he  is  induced  to  quit  the  domes- 
tic solitude  into  which  he  retires,  it  is  only  when  the 
glorious,  but  to  him  offensive,  light  of  heaven  is  con- 
cealed in  congenial  darkness ;  and  the  shades  of  night 
hide  him  from  the  observation  of  man.  An  invitation 
to  social  entertainment  alarms  his  mind ;  the  visit  even 
of  a  friend  becomes  painful  to  his  feelings  ;  and  he  de- 
tests every. thing  which  lightens  the  gloom  in  which 
he  wishes  to  live,  or  which  tends  to  disturb  his  privacy, 
or  remove  him  from  his  retreat. 

Rousseau,  toward  the  latter  part  of  his  life,  abandoned 
all  intercourse  with  society  under  a  notion,  which  was  the 
effect  of  his  melancholy  disposition,  that  the  world  had 
conceived  an  unconquerable  antipathy  against  him : 
and  that  his  former  friends,  particularly  Hume,  and 
some  philosophers  in  France,  not  only  had  entered  into 
confederacy  to  destroy  his  glory  and  repose,  but  to  take 
away  his  life.  On  departing  from  England,  he  passed 
through  Amiens,  where  he  met  with  Cresset,  who  in- 
terrogated him  about  his  misfortunes,  and  the  contro- 
versies in  which  he  had  been  engaged ;  but  Rousseau 
only  answered,  "  You  have  got  the  art  of  making  a 
parrot  speak,  but  you  are  not  yet  possessed  of  the  secret 
of  giving  language  to  a  bear:"  and  when  the  magis- 
trates of  the  city  wished  to  confer  on  him  some  marks 
of  their  esteem,  he  refused  all  their  offers,  and  consi- 
dered these  flattering  civilities  like  the  insults  which 
were  lavished  in  the  same  form  on  the  celebrated  San- 
cho  in  the  island  of  Barataria.  To  such  extent,  indeed, 
did  his  disordered  imagination  carry  him,  that  he 
thought  one  part  of  the  people  looked  upon  him  like 
La  arillo  de  Tormes,  who  being  fixed  to  the  bottom  of 
a  tub,  with  only  his  head  out'of  water,  was  carried 
from  one  town  to  another  to  amuse  the  vulgar.  His 
bad  health,  a  strong  and  melancholy  imagination,  a 
too  nice  sensibility,  a  jealous  disposition,  joined  with 
philosophic  vanity,  and  his  uncommon  devotion  to  soli 
19* 


223  EFFECTS  or  SOLITUDE 

tude,  tended  to  "prepossess  him  with  those  wrong  and 
whimsical  ideas.  But  it  must  be  confessed  that  the  op- 
position he  met  with  from  different  ranks  of  persons, 
at  several  periods  of  his  life,  was  extremely  severe, 
He  was  driven  at  one  time  from  France,  in  which  he 
had  before  been  distinguished  by  his  writings,  and 
highly  honored.  At  another  time  he  was  chased  from 
Geneva,  the  place  of  his  nativity,  and  of  his  warmest 
affection.  He  was  exiled  from  Berne  with  disgrace ; 
expelled,  \wth  some  appearance  of  injustice,  from 
Neufchatel;  and  even  banished  from  his  tranquil  soli- 
tude on  the  borders  of  the  lake  of  Bienne.  His  dispo- 
sition therefore  to  avoid  society,  must  not  be  entirely 
attributed  to  his  melancholy  disposition ;  nor  his  love 
of  solitude  to  a  misanthropic  mind.  Every  acute  and 
scientific  observer  of  the  life  and  character  of  this  ex- 
traordinary man  will  immediately  perceive  that  the 
seeds  of  that  melancholy  disposition,  and  fretful  tem- 
per, which  through  life  destroyed  his  repose,"were  sown 
by  nature  in  his  constitution.  He  confesses  indeed,  to 
use  his  own  words,  that  "  aproud  misanthrophy,  and  per 
culiar  contempt  for  the  riches  and  pleasures  of  the 
world,  constituted  the  chief  traits  of  his  character." 
This  proud  spirit  and  contemptuous  mind  were  mixed 
with  an  extreme  sensibility  of  heart,  and  an  excessive 
indolence  of  disposition  ;  and  his  body,  which  was  pa^ 
turally  feeble,  suffered,  from  HI  health,  the  keenest  agOr> 
nies,  and  most  excruciating  disorders,  to  which  the  hur 
man  frame  is  incident.  Persecution  also  had  levelled 
the  most  pointed  and  severely  barbed  shafts  against 
him ;  and  he  was  forced  to  endure,  amidst  the  pangs 
of  poverty,  and  the  sorrows  of  sickness,  all  that  envy, 
hatred,  and  malice,  could  inflict.  It  has  been  said,  that 
the  persecutions  he  experienced  were  not  so  much 
excited  by  the  new  dogmas,  or  eccentric  paradoxes, 
which,  both  on  polities~and  religion,  pervade  all  his 
writings,  as  by  the  refinement  of  his  extraordinary 
talents,  the  wonderful  splendor  of  his  eloquence,  and 
the  increasing  extent  of  his  fame.  His  adversaries  cerr 
tainly  pursued  him,  not  only  with  bigotry  and  intole- 
rance, but  with  an  inconsistency  which  revealed,  in  a 
great  degree,  the  secret  motives  by  which  they  were 
actuated  ;  for  they  condemned,  with  the  sharpest  viru- 
lence, the  freedom  of  his  religious  tenets,  even  in  places 
where  the  religious  creed  of  Voltaire  was  held  in  the 
highest  admiration,  and  where  atheism  had  collected 
Jhe  most  learned  advocates,  and  displayed  the  very 


ON  A  MELANCHOLY  MIND.  223 

standard  of  infidelity  and  disbelief.  Harrassed  by  the 
frowns  of  fortune,  and  pursued  with  unrelenting  enmi- 
ty by  men  whose  sympathy  and  kindness  he  had  anx- 
iously endeavored  to  obtain,  it  is  scarcely  surprising 
that  the  cheerfulness  of  his  disposition,  and  the  kind- 
ness of  his  heart,  should  be  subdued  by  those  senti- 
ments of  aversion  and  antipathy  which  he  fancied 
most  of  his  intimates  entertained  against  him :  and 
the  invectives  from  the  pen  of  his  former  friend  and 
confidant,  Voltaire,  together  with  many  others  that 
might  be  adduced,  particularly  the  letter  whicfi  was 
fabricated  in  the  name  of  the  king  of  Prussia,  for  the 
purpose  of  exposing  him  to  ridicule,  prove  that  his  sus- 
picions on  the  subject  were  not  unfounded.  The  voice, 
indeed  of  mankind,  seems  ready  to  exclaim  that  this 
eccentric  philosopher  was  not  only  a  misanthrope,  but 
a  madman  ;  but  those  who  are  charitably  disposed, 
will  recollect  that  he  was  a  martyr  to  ill  health  ;  that 
nature  had  bestowed  upon  him  a  discontented  mind  ; 
that  his  nerves  were  in  a  continued  state  of  irritation  ; 
aad  that  to  preserve  equanimity  of  temper  when  goad- 
ed by  the  shafts  of  calumny  and  malice,  requires  such 
an  extraordinary  degree  of  fortitude  and  passive  cou- 
rage as  few  individuals  are  found  to  possess.  His  faults 
are  remembered,  while  the  wonderful  bloom  and  utf- 
eoramon  vigor  of  his  genius,  are  forgotten  or  concealed. 
The  production  from  which  his  merits  are  in  general 
estimated,  is  that  which  is  called  "  The  Confessions:" 
a  work  written  under  the  pressure  of  calamity,  in  sick- 
ness and  in  sorrow  ;  amidst  fears,  distresses,  and  suffer- 
ings ;  when  the  infirmities  which  accompany  old  age. 
and  the  debility  which  attends  continued  ill  health,  had 
injured  the  tone  of  his  mind,  overpowered  his  reason, 
and  perverted  his  feelings  to  such  a  degree,  as  to  create 
an  almost  total  transformation  of  the  character  of  the 
man,  and  deprive  him  of  his  identity :  but  this  degrad- 
ing work  ought,  in  candor,  to  be  considered  as  a  deplo- 
rable instance  of  the  weakness  of  human  nature,  and 
how  unable  it  is  to  support  its  own  dignity  when  at- 
tacked by  the  adversities  of  fortune,  and  the  malice  of 
mankind.  The  greatness  of  Rousseau  ought  to  be 
erected  on  a  different  basis :  for  his  earliest  works  are 
certainly  sufficient  to  support  the  extent  of  his  fame  as 
an  author,  however  they  may,  on  particular  subjects,  ex- 
pose his  integrity  as  a  man. 

The  anxieties  which  a  vehemence  of  imagination, 
quid  a  tender  texture  of  the  nervous  system  at  all  times 


224  EFFECTS  OF   SOLITUDE 

produce,  are  highly  injurious  to  the  faculties  of  the 
mind;  and,  when  accompanied  by  sickness  or  by  sor- 
row, wear  out  the  intellect  in  proportion  to  its  vigor 
and  activity.  To  use  the  popular  metaphor  upon  this 
subject,  "  The  sword  becomes  too  sharp  for  the  scab- 
bard ;"  and  the  body  and  the  mind  are  thereby  exposed 
to  mutual  destruction. 

Religious  melancholy  is,  of  all  other  descriptions  of 
this  dreadful  disease,  most  heightened  and  aggravated 
by  solitude.  The  dreadful  idea  of  having  irretrievably 
lost  the  divine  favor,  and  of  being  an  object  unworthy 
of  the  intercession  of  our  Saviour,  incessantly  haunts 
the  mind,  laboring  under  religious  despondency ;  and 
the  imagination  being  left,  in  solitude,  entirely  to  its 
own  workings,  increases  the  horrors  which  such 
thoughts  must  unavoidably  inspire. 

Her  lash  Tisiphone  that  moment  shakes  , 
The  mind  she  scourges  with  a  thousand  snakes, 
And  to  her  aid,  with  many  a  thundering  yell ; 
Calls  her  dire  sisters  from  the  gulf  of  Hell ! 

These  mutual  tortures,  even  when  heightened  by 
the  gloominess  of  solitude,  are  frequently  still  further 
increased  by  the  mischievous  doctrines  of  bigoted 
priests,  who  by  mistaking  the  effects  of  nervous  de- 
rangement, or  theological  errors,  for  the  compunctious 
yisitings  01  a  guilty  mind,  establish  and  mature,  by  the 
injudicious  application  of  scriptural  texts,  and  precepts 
of  casuistry,  the  very  disease  which  they  thus  ignorant- 
ly  and  presumptuously  endeavor  to  remove.  The 
wound,  thus  tainted  by  the  most  virulent  and  corrosive 
of  the  intellectual  poisons,  becomes  extremely  difficult 
to  cure.  The  pure  and  uncontaminated  tenets  of  the 
Christian  faith  furnishes,  perhaps,  the  surest  antidotes ; 
and  when  these  balms  of  true  comfort  are  infused  by 
such  enlightened  and  discerning  minds  as  Luther,  Til- 
lotson,  and  Clark,  the  most  rational  hope  may  be  enter- 
tained of  a  speedy  recovery.  The  writings  of  those 
holy  teachers  confirm  the  truth  of  the  observation, 
that  the  deleterious  gloom  of  superstition  assumes  a 
a  darker  aspect  in  the  shades  of  retirement,  and  they 
uniformly  exhort  the  unhappy  victims  of  this  religious 
error  to  avoid  solitude  as  the  most  certain  enemy  of 
this  dreadful  infirmity. 

Solitude,  however,  is  not  the  only  soil  in  which  this 
noxious  weed  springs  up,  spreading  around  its  baleful 
glooms ;  it  sometimes  appears  with  deeply  rooted  vio» 


ON  A  MELANCHOLY  MIND.  225 

lence  in  minds  unused  to  retirement  of  every  kind.   In 
the  course  of  my  practice  as  a  physician,  I  \yas  called 
upon  to  attend  a  young  lady,  whose  natural  disposition 
had  been  extremely  cheerful,  until  a  severe  fit  of  sick- 
ness damped  her  spirits,  and  rendered  her  averse  to  all 
those  lively  pleasures  which  fascinate  the  youthful 
mind.    The  debility  of  her  frame,  and  the  change  of 
her  temper  were  not  sufficiently  attended  to  in  the  early 
stages  of  her  convalescence.    The  anxiety  of  her  mind 
was  visible  in  the  altered  features  of  her  face;  and  she 
was  frequently  heard  to  express  a  melancholy  regret 
that  she  had  consumed  so  many  hours  in  the  frivolous, 
though  innocent,  amusements  of  the  age.    Time  in- 
creased, by  almost  imperceptible  degrees,  these  symp- 
toms of  approaching  melancholy ;  and  at  lengt-h  exhi- 
bited themselves  by  penitential  lamentations  of  the  sin 
she  had  committed  with  respect  to  the  most  trifling 
actions  of  her  life,  and  in  which  no  shadow  of  of- 
fence could  possibly  be  found.    At  the  time  I  was  called 
in,  this  superstitious  melancholy  was  attended  with 
certain  indications  of  mental  derangement.    The  dis- 
temper clearly  originated  in  the  indisposition   of  the 
body,  and  the  gloomy  apprehensions  which  disease  and 
pain,  had  introduced  into  the  mind,  during  a  period  of 
many  months.    This  once  lively,  handsome,  but  now 
almost  insane  female,  was  daily  attacked  with  such  vio- 
lent paroxysms  of  her  complaint,  that  she  lost  all  sense 
of  her  situation,  and  exclaimed,  in  horrid  distraction 
and  deep  despair,  that  her  perdition  was  already  accom- 
plished, and  that  the  fiends  were  waiting  to  receive  her 
soul,  and  plunge  it  into  the  bitterest  torments  of  hell. 
Her  constitution,  however,  still  fortunately  retained  suf- 
ficient strength  to  enable  me,  by  the  power  of  medicine, 
gradually  to  change  its  temperament,  and  to  reduce 
the  violence  of  the  fever  which  had  been  long  preying 
upon  her  life.    Her  mind  became  more  calm  in  propor- 
tion as  her  nerves  recovered  their  former  tone ;  and 
when  her  intellectual  powers  were  in  a  condition  to 
be  acted  on  with  effect,  I  successfully  counteracted  the 
baleful  effects  of  superstition  by  the  wholesome  infu- 
sion of  real  religion,  and  restored  by  degrees,  a  lovely, 
young,  and  virtuous  woman,  to  her  family  and  herself. 
Another  instance  of  a  similar  nature  occurred  very 
recently,  in  which  the  patient  experienced  all  those 
symptoms,  which  prognosticate  the  approach  of  reli- 
gious melancholy,  and  the  completion  of  whose  sorrow 
and  despondency  would  quickly  have  been  effected,  if 


226  EFFECTS  OF  SOLITUDE 

good  fortune  had  not  deprived  her  of  the  advice  of  an 
ignorant  and  bigoted  priest,  to  whom  her  friends,  when 
i  was  called  in,  had  resolved  to  apply.  This  young 
lady,  whose  mind  remained  pure  and  uncorrupted 
amidst  all  the  luxuries  and  dissipations  which  usually 
accompany  illustrious  birth  and  elevated  station,  pos- 
sessed by  nature  great  tranquillity  of  disposition,  and 
lived  with  quietude  and  content,  far  retired  from  the 
pleasures  of  the  world.  I  had  been  long  acquainted 
with  her  family,  and  entertained  for  them  the  warmest 
esteem.  The  dangerous  condition  of  her  health  gave 
me  great  anxiety  and  concern ;  for  whenever  she  "was 
left  one  moment  to  herself,  and  even  in  company, 
whenever  she  closed  her  eyes,  a  thousand  horrid  spec- 
tres presented  themselves  to  her  disordered  mind,  and 
seemed  ready  to  devour  her  from  every  corner  of  the 
apartment.  I  inquired  whether  these  imaginary  spec- 
tres made  any  impression  upon  the  affections  of  her 
heart :  but  she  answered  in  the  negative,  and  described 
the  horrors  which  she  felt  from  the  supposed  fierceness 
of  their  eyes,  and  the  threatening  gesticulations  of 
their  bodies.  1  endeavored  to  compose  herby  assuring 
her  that  they  were  the  creatures  of  fancy,  the  wild  chi- 
meras of  a  weakened  brain ;  that  her  long  course  of 
ill  health  had  affected  her  mind  ;  and  that  when  a  pro- 
per course  of  medicine,  dietic  regimen,  and  gentle  ex- 
ercise, had  restored  herstrength,  these  dreadful  appear- 
ances would  give  way  to  the  most  delightful  visions. 
The  course  I  pursued  succeeded  in  a  short  time  be- 
yond my  most  sanguinary  expectations,  and  I  raised 
her  languid  powers  To  health  and  happiness.  But  if  she 
had  confided  the  anxieties  of  her  mind  to  her  confes- 
sor, instead  of  her  physician,  the  holy  father  would,  in 
all  probability,  have  ascribed  her  gloomy  apprehensions 
to  the  machinations  of  the  devil,  and  have  used  nothing 
but  pure  spiritual  antidotes  to  destroy  them,  which 
would  have  increased  the  melancholy,  and  possibly 
have  thrown  her  into  the  darkest  abyss  of  madness  and 
despair. 

This  grievous  malady,  indeed,  is  not  the  exclusive 
offspring  of  mistaken  piety  and  religious  zeal ;  for  it 
frequently  invades  minds  powerful  by  nature,  improved 
by  science,  and  assisted  by  rational  society.  Health, 
learning,  conversation,  highly  advantageous  as  they  un- 
questionably are  to  the  powers  both  of  the  body  and 
the  mind,  have,  in  particular  instances,  been  found  in- 
eapable  of  resisting  the  influence  of  intense  speculatioiii 


ON  A  MELANCHOLY  MIND.  23? 

an  atrabilarius  constitution,  and  a  superstitious  habit. 
I  have  already  mentioned  the  thick  cloud  of  melancho- 
ly which  obscured  the  latter  days  of -the  great  and  just- 
ly celebrated  Haller,  which  were  passed  under  the  op- 
pression of  a  religious  despondency,  that  robbed  him 
not  only  of  all  enjoyment,  but  almost  of  life  itself. 
During  the  long  period  of  four  years,  immediately  an- 
tecedent to  his  death,  he  lived  (if  such  a  state  could  be 
called  existence)  in  continual  misery  ;  except,  indeed, 
at  those  short  intervals  when  the  returning  powers  of 
his  mind  enabled  him,  by  the  employment  of  his  pen,  to 
experience  a  temporary  relief.  A  long  course  of  ill 
health  had  forced  him  into  an  excessive  use  of  opium, 
and  by  taking  gradually  increased  quantities  of  that 
inspissated  juice,  he  kept  himself  continually  fluctuating 
between  a  state  of  mind  naturally  elevated  and  deeply 
dejected  ;  for  the  first  effects  of  this  powerful  drug  are 
like  those  of  a  strong  stimulating  cordial,  but  they  are 
soon  succeeded  by  universal  langour,  or  irresistable  pro- 
pensity to  sleep,  attended  with  dreams  of  the  most  agi- 
tated and  enthusiastic  nature.  I  was  myself  an  eye- 
witness of  the  dreary  melancholy  into  which  this  great 
and  good  man  was  plunged  about  two  years  before  the 
kind,  but  cold,  and  though  friendly,  yet  unwelcome 
hand  of  death,  released  him  from  his  pains.  The  so- 
ciety, which,  during  that  time,  he  was  most  solici- 
tous to  obtain,  \yas  that  of  priests  and  ecclesiastics  of 
every  description :  he  was  uneasy  when  they 
were  not  with  him:  nor  was  he  always  happy  in  his 
choice  of  these  spiritual  comforters ;  for  though,  at 
times,  he  was  attended  by  some  of  the  most  enlightened 
and  orthodox  divines  of  the  age  and  country  in  which 
he  lived,  he  was  at  others  surrounded  by  those  whom 
nothing  but  the  reduced  and  abject  state  of  his  facul- 
ties would  have  suffered  him  to  endure.  But  during 
even  this  terrible  subversion  of  his  intellectual  powers, 
his  love  of  glory  still  survived  in  its  original  radiance, 
and  defied  all  the  terrors  both  of  hell  and  earth  to 
destroy  or  diminish  their  force.  Haller  had  embraced 
very  deep  and  serious  notions  of  the  importance  of 
Christianity  to  the  salvation  of  the  soul,  and  the  re- 
demption of  mankind,  which,  by  the  ardency  of  his  tem- 
per, and  the  saturnine  disposition  of  his  mind,  were 
carried  into  a  mistaken  zeal  and  apprehension;  and, 
instead  of  affording  the  comfort  and  consolation  its  te- 
nets and  principles  are  so  eminently  calculated  to  in- 
spire, aggravated  his  feelings  and  destroyed  his  repose. 


22$  EFFECTS  OF   SOLIf00E- 

In  a  letter  which  he  wrote  a  few  days  before  his  death, 
to  his  great  and  good  friend,  the  celebrated  Heyne,  of 
Gottingen,  in  which  he  announces  the  deep  sense  he 
entertained  from  his  great  age  and  multiplied  infirmi- 
ties, of  his  impending  dissolution,  he  expressed  his  firm 
belief  of  revelation,  and  his  faith  in  the  mercy  of  God, 
and  the  intercession  of  Jesus  Christ ;  but  hints  his 
fears  lest  the  manifold  sins,  and  the  various  errors  and 
transgressions  which  the  natural  frailty  of  man  must 
have  accumulated  during  a  course  of  seventy  years, 
should  have  rendered  his  soul  too  guilty  to  expect  the 
promised  mercy  to  repentant  sinners,  and  earnestly  re- 
quests of  him  to  inquire  of  his  acquaintance  Less,  the 
virtuous  divine  of  that  place,  whether  he  could  not  fur- 
nish him  with  some  pious  work  that  might  tend  to  de- 
crease the  terrors  he  felt  from  the  idea  of  approaching 
death,  and  relieve  his  tortured  spirit  from  the  ap- 
prehension of  eternal  punishment.  The  sentiments 
which  occupied  the  mind  of  this  pious  philosopher 
when  the  dreaded  hour  actually  arrived,  whether  it 
was  comforted  by  the  bright  rays  of  hope,  or  dismayed 
into  total  eclipse  by  the  dark  clouds  of  despair,  those 
who  surrounded  his  dying  couch  have  not  communi- 
cated to  the  \vorld.  Death,  while  it  released  both  his 
body  and  his  mind  from  the  painful  infirmities  and  de- 
lusions under  which  they  had  so  long  and  so  severely 
suffered,  left  his  fame,  which,  while  living,  he  had 
valued  much  dearer  than  his  life,  exposed  to  the  cruel 
shafts  of  slander  and  malevolence.  A  young  noble- 
man of  the  canton  of  Berne,  either  moved  by  his  own 
malice,  or  made  an  instrument  of  the  malice  of  others, 
asserted  in  a  letter,  which  was  for  a  long  time  publicly 
exhibited  in  the  university  of  Gottingeh.  that  Haller 
had  in  his  last  moments  denied  his  belief  of  the  truth 
of  Christianity.  But  those  by  whom  he  was  then  sur- 
rounded, betray,  by  the  propagation  of  this  falsehood, 
the  fears  they  entertain  of  the  firm  support  which  his 
approbation  would  have  given  to  that  pure  and  pious 
system  of  religion,  which  they,  it  is  well  known, 
are  so  disposed  to  destroy.  For  certain  it  is,  that  Hal- 
ler  never  doubted  any  of  the  attributes  of  the  Deityf 
except  his  mercy;  and  this  doubt  was  not  the  offspring 
of  infidelity,  but  a  crude  abortion  of  that  morbid  melan- 
choly which,  during  his  latter  days,  settled  so  severely 
on  his  distempered  mind.  The  same  dread  which  he 
entertained  of  death,  has  been  felt  with  equal  if  not 
greater  horror,  by  minds  as  powerful  and  less  super?ti- 


ON  A  MELANCHOLY  MlttD.  220 

tious.  He  candidly  confessed  the  important  and  ab- 
struse point  upon  which  he  had  not  been  able  to  satisfy 
himself.  His  high  sense  of  virtue  made  even  his  own 
almost  exemplary  and  unblemished  life  appear,  in  his 
too  refined  speculations,  grossly  vicious.  Mercy,  he 
knew,  must  unavoidably,  oe  correlative  with  justice ; 
and  he  unfortunately  conceived  that  no  repentance, 
however  sincere,  could  so  purify  the  sinful,  and,  as  he 
imagined,  deplorable  corruption  of  his  soul,  as  to  ren- 
der it  worthy  of  divine  grace.  So  utterly  had  the 
melancholy  dejection  of  his  mind  deprived  him  of  a 
just  sense  of  his  character,  and  perfect  knowledge  of 
the  nature  of  the  Almighty.  The  mournful  propensity 
of  this  great  man  must,  if  he  had  passed  his  days  either 
in  pious  abstinence,  or  irrational  solitude,  have  hurried 
him  rapidly  into  irrecoverable  frenzy  ;  but  Haller  en- 
joyed the  patronage  of  the  great,  the  conversation  of 
the  learned,  the  company  of  the  polite ;  and  he  not  onlv 
suspended  the  effects  of  his  malady,  and  of  the  medi- 
cines by  which  he  attempted  to  relieve  it,  by  these  ad- 
vantages, but  by  the  sciences,  which  he  so  dearly  loved 
and  so  successfully  cultivated.  The  horrible  evil,  how- 
ever, bowed  him  down  in  spite  of  all  his  efforts,  and 
particularly  oppressed  him  whenever  he  relaxed  from 
his  literary  pursuits,  or  consulted  his  ghostly  comforters 
on  the  lost  condition  of  his  soul. 

Solitude,  to  a  mind  laboring  under  these  erroneous 
notions  of  religipn,  operates  like  a  rack,  by  which  the 
imagination  inflicts  the  severest  tortures  on  the  souL 
A  native  of  Geneva,  a  young  man  of  very  elegant  man- 
ners, and  a  highly  cultivated  mind,  some  time  since 
consulted  me  upon  the  subject  of  a  nervous  complaint, 
which  I  immediately  discovered  to  be  the  consequence 
of  a  mistaken  zeal  for  religion,  a  disposition  naturally 
sedentary,  and  a  habit  which  is -too  frequently  indulged 
in  solitude  by  unthinking  youth.  These  circumstances 
had  already  made  the  most  dreadful  inroads  both  on 
his  body  and  his  mind.  His  emaciated  frame  was  daily- 
enfeebled  by  his  paralyzed  intellects,  and  he  at  length 
fell  into  a  settled  melancholy,  which  continued  four 
years  to  defy  the  power  of  medicine,  and  finally  de- 
stroyed his  nervous  system.  A  strong  conviction  of 
the  heinous  sin  into  which  the  blindness  of  his  passion 
and  evil  example,  had  led  him,  at  length  flashed  sud- 
denly on  his  mind,  and  he  felt,  with  the  keenest 
compunctions  of  a  wounded  conscience,  how  impious 
he  must  appear  to  the  all-seeing  eye  of  the  great 
20 


230  EFFECTS  OF  SOLITtDE 

Creator.  Consternation  and  dismay  seized  his  guilty 
mind  ;  and  the  sense  of  virtue  and  religion,  which  he 
was  naturally  disposed  to  entertain,  served  only  to  in- 
crease his  horror  and  distraction.  He  would  have 
sought  a  refuge  from  the  arrows  of  remorse  under  the 
protecting  shields  of  penitence  and  prayer,  but  a  scru- 
pulous apprehension  interposed  the  idea  that  it  would 
be  profanation  in  so  guilty  a  sinner  to  exercise  the  of- 
fices of  a  pure  and  holy  religion.  He  at  length,  however, 
proceeded  to  confession ;  but  recollecting,  after  every 
disclosure,  that  he  had  still  omitted  many  of  his  trans- 
gressions, additional  horror  seized  upon  his  mind  and 
tortured  his  feelings  on  the  irrecoverable  condition  of 
nis  guilty  soul.  At  intervals,  indeed,  he  was  able  to 
perceive  that  the  perturbations  of  his  mind  were  the 
produce  of  his  disorganized  frame  and  disordered 
spirit ;  and  he  endeavored  to  recruit  the  one  by  air  and 
exercise,  and  to  dissipate  the  other  by  scenes  of  festivi- 
ty and  mirth  :  but  his  disorder  had  fixed  his  fibres  too 
deeply  in  his  constitution  to  be  eradicated  by  such  slight 
and  temporary  remedies.  From  the  inefficacious  anti- 
dotes of  social  pleasure  and  worldly  dissipation,  he 
was  induced  to  try  the  calm  and  sedentary  effects  of 
solitary  study:  but  his  faculties  were  incapable  of  tast- 
ing the  refined  and  elegant  occupations  of  learning  and 
the  muse;  his  powers  of  reasoning  were  destroyed  \ 
his  sensibilities,  excepting  on  the  subject  of  his  com- 
plaint, were  dried  up;  and  neither  the  sober  investiga- 
tions of  science,  nor  the  more  lively  charms  of  poetry, 
were  capable  of  affording  him  the  least  consolation. 
Into  so  abject  a  state,  indeed,  did  his  intellectual  facul- 
ties at  length  fall,  that  he  had  not,  during  one  period, 
sufficent  ability  to  compute  the  change  due  to  him 
from  any  piece  of  coin  in  the  common  transactions  of 
life;  and  he  confessed,- that  he  had  been  frequently 
tempted,  by  the  deepness  of  his  distress,  to  release  both 
his  body  and  his  mind  from  their  cruel  sufferings,  and 
"to  shake  impatiently  his  great  affliction  off"  by  self 
destruction  ;  but  the  idea  of  heaping  new  punishment 
on  his  soul,  by  the  perpetration  of  this  additional  crime, 
continually  interposed,  and  saved  him  from  the  guilty 
deed.  During  this  state  of  mental  derangement,  he 
fortunately  met  with  a  liberal  minded  and  rational  di- 
vine, who,  free  from  the  errors  of  priestcraft,  and  pos- 
sessed of  a  profound  knowledge  of  the  virtues  of  reli- 
gion and  the  structure  of  the  human  mind,  undertook 
the  ardous  but  humane  and  truly  philosophic  task,  of 


ON  A  MELANCHOLY  MIND.  231 

endeavoring  to  bring  back  his  mind  to  a  rational  sense 
of  its  guilt,  and  to  a  firm  hope  of  pardon  through  the 
intercession  of  our  Saviour.  Religion,  that  sweet  and 
certain  comforter  of  human  woes,  at  length  effected  a 
partial  recovery,  and  restored  him  to  a  degree  of  tran- 
quillity and  repose ;  but  he  still  continued  to  suffer,  for 
years  afterward,  so  great  a  misery  from  the  shattered 
condition  of  his  nerves,  that  he  could  not  even  com- 
pose a  letter  upon  the  most  trifling  and  indifferent  sub- 
ject without  the  greatest  labor  and  pain.  As  his  feel- 
ings had  never  been  hurt  by  any  sense  of  injury  re- 
ceived from  mankind,  he  entertained  no  antipathy  to 
his  species  ;  but  as  he  was  conscious  that  his  reduced 
state  of  health  prevented  him  from  keeping  up  any  ra- 
tional or  pleasing  intercourse  with  them,  he  felt  a  sort 
of  abhorrence  to  society,  and  refused,  even  when  ad- 
yised  by  his  physicians  and  intimate  friends,  to  mingle 
in  its  pleasures,  or  engage  in  its  concerns.  The  propo- 
sal, indeed,  appeared  as  extravagant  and  absurd  to  his 
feelings,  as  if  a  man,  almost  cholung  under  the  convul- 
sion of  a  confirmed  asthma,  had  been  told  that  it  was 
only  necessary  for  him  to  breathe  freely  in  order  to  ac- 
quire perfect  ease.  This  deplorable  state  of  health  in- 
duced him  to  consult  several  Italian  and  English  phy- 
sicians ;  and  being  advised  to  try  the  effects  of  a  sea 
vovdire,  he  set  sail  for  Riga,  where  he  safely  arrived ; 
but,  after  a  residence  of  six  months,  found  himself  un- 
altered, and  precisely  in  the  same  dreadful  condition  in 
which  he  had  set  sail.  On  his  return,  I  was  called  in 
to  his  assistance.  There  were  at  this  period  but  very 
few  of  those  gloomy  and  noxious  vapors  of  superstition 
which  had  so  tormented  his  mind,  remaining ;  but  his 
body,  and  particularly  his  nervous  system,  was  still 
racked  with  agonizing  pains.  I  had  the  good  fortune 
to  afford  him  great  relief:  and  when  attimes  his  suffer- 
ings were  suspended,  ana  his  spirits  enlivened  by  pleas- 
ing conversation,  he  was  certainly  one  of  the  most  en- 
taming  men,  both  as  to  the  vivacity  of  his  wit,  the 
shrewdness  of  his  observations,  the  powers  of  his  rea- 
soning, and  the  solidity  of  his  judgment,  that  I  had 
ever  known. 

These  instances  clearly  evince  how  dangerous  soli- 
tude may  prove  to  minds  predisposed,  by  accident  or 
nature,  to  indulge  a  misdirected  imagination,  either 
upon  the  common  subjects  of  life,  or  upon  the  more 
important  and  affecting  topic  of  religion  ;  but  it  must 
»ot  be  concluded  from  the  observations  I  have  already 


23*2  EFFECTS  Or  SOLITUDE 

made,  that  a  rational  retirement  from  the  vices,  the 
vanities,  and  the  vexations  of  the  world,  is  equally  un- 
friendly, under  all  circumstances,  to  a  sickly  mind. 
The  cool  and  quiet  repose  which  seclusion  affords,  is 
frequently  the  most  advantageous  remedy  which  can 
be  adopted  for  the  recovery  oi  a  disturbed  imagination. 
It  would  indeed  be  the  height  of  absurdity  to  recom- 
mend to  a  person  suffering  under  a  derangement  of 
the  nervous  system,  the  diversions  and  dissipations  of 
public  life,  when  it  is  knosvn,  by  sad  experience,  as  well 
as  by  daily  observation,  that  the  least  hurry  disorders 
their  frame,  and  the  gentlest  intercourse  palpitates 
their  hearts,  and  shakes  their  brains,  almost  to  distrac- 
tion. The  healthy  and  robust  can  nave  no  idea  how 
violent  the  slightest  touch  vibrates  through  the  trem- 
bling nerves  of  the  dejected  valetudinarian.  The  gay 
and  healthy,  therefore,  seldom  sympathize  with  the  sor- 
rowful and  the  sick.  This,  indeed,  is  one  reason  why 
those  who,  having  lost  the  firm  and  vigorous  tone  of 
mind  which  is  so  essentially  necessary  in  the  inter- 
courses of  the  world,  generally  abandon  society,  and 
seek  in  the  softness  of  solitude  a  solace  for  their  cares 
and  anxieties ;  for  there  they  frequently  find  a  kind 
asylum,  where  the  soul  rests  free  from  disturbance,  and 
in  time  appeases  the.  violence  of  its  emotions :  for  "  the 
foster  nurse  of  nature  is  repose."  Experience,  alas ! 
sad  experience,  has  but  too  well  qualified  me  to  treat  ol 
this  subject.  In  the  fond  expectation  of  being  able  to 
re-establish  my  nervous  system,  and  to  regain  that 
health  which  I  had  broken  down,  and  almost  destroyed 
by  intense  application,  I  repaired  to  the  Circle  of  West- 
phalia, in  order  to  taste  the  waters  of  Pyrmont,  and  to 
divert  the  melancholy  of  my  mind  by  the  company 
which  resorts  to  that  celebrated  spring:  but  alas!  I 
was  unable  to  enjoy  the  livery  scene ;  and  I  walked 
through  multitudes  of  the  great,  the  elegant,  and  the 
gay,  in  painful  stupor,  scarcely  recognizing  the  features 
of  my  friends,  and  fearful  of  being  noticed  by  those 
who  knew  me.  The  charms  of  wit,  and  the  splendors 
of  youthful  beauty,  were  to  me  as  unaliuring  as  age 
and  ugliness,  when  joined  to  the  deformities  of  vice, 
and  the  fatiguing  prate  of  senseless  folly.  During  th  js 
miserable  impotence  of  soul,  and  while  I  vainly  sought 
a  temporary  relief  of  my  own  calamity,  I  was  hourly 
assailed  by  a  crowd  of  wretched  souls,  who  implored 
me  to  afford  them  m  v  professional  aid,  to  alleviate  those 
pains  which  time,  alas!  had  fixed  in  their  constitutions 


ON  A  MELANCHOLY  MIND.  333 

and  which  depended  more  on  the  management  and  re- 
formation of  their  own  minds,  than  on  the  powers  of 
medicine  to  cure.  For— 

I  could  not  minister  to  a  mind  diseased, 
Pluck  from  the  memory  a  rooted  sorrow, 
Raze  out  the  written  troubles  of  the  brain, 
And,  with  a  sweet  oblivious  antidote, 
Cleanse  the  stuflf'd  bosom  of  that  perilous  stuff 
Which  weighed  upon  the  heart. 

To  avoid  these  painful  importunities,  I  flew  from  the 
tasteless  scenes  with  abrupt  and  angry  violence  ;  and 
confining  myself  to  the  solitude  of  my  apartments,  pass- 
ed the  lingering  day  in  dreary  dejection,  musing  on  the 
melancholy  group  from  which  I  had  just  escaped.  But 
my  home  did  not  long  afford  me  an  asylum.  I  was  on 
the  ensuing  day  assailed  by  a  host  of  hypochondriacs, 
attended  by  their  respective  advisers,  who,  while  my 
own  nervous  malady  vyas  raging  at  its  full  height,  stun- 
ned me  with  the  various  details  of  their  imaginary 
woes,  and  excruciated  me  the  whole  day  with  their  un- 
founded ails  and  tormenting  lamentations.  The  friend- 
ly approach  of  night  at  length  relieved  me  from  their 
importunities;  but  my  spirits  had  been  exhausted,  my 
feelings  so  vexed,  my  patience  so  tried,  and  the  sensi- 
bilities of  my  mind  so  aggravated,  by  the  persecution  I 
had  endured,  that — 

"  Tir'd  nature's  sweet  restorer,  balmly  sleep," 

fled  from  my  eyes ;  and  I  lay  restless  upon  my  couch, 
alive  only  to  my  miseries,  in  a  state  of  anguish  more 
insupportable  than  my  bitterest  enemies  would,  I  hope, 
have  inflicted  on  me.  About  noon,  on  the  ensuing  day, 
while  I  was  endeavoring  to  procure  on  the  sofa  a  short 
repose,  the  princess  Orlow,  accompanied  by  two  other 
very  agreeable  Russian  ladies,  whose  company  and 
conversation  it  was  both  my  pride  and  my  pleasure  fre- 
quently to  enjoy,  suddenly  entered  my  apartment,  to 
inquire  after  my  health,  of  the  state  of  which  they  had 
received  an  account  only  a  few  hours  before :  but  such 
V  as  the  petulance  of  temper  into  which  my  disordered 
mind  had  betrayed  me,  that  I  immediately  rose,  and 
with  uncivil  vehemence,  requested  they  would  not  dis- 
turb me.  The  fair  intruders  instantly  left  the  room. 
About  an  hour  afterward,  and  while  I  was  reflecting 
on  the  impropriety  of  my  conduct,  the  prince  himself 
20* 


234  EFFECTS  OF   SOLITUDE 

honored  me  with  a  visit.  He  placed  himself  on  a  chair 
close  by  the  couch  on  which  I  lay,  and,  with  that  kind 
affection  which  belongs  to  his  character,  inquired,  with 
the  tenderest  and  most  sympathizing  concern,  into  the 
cause  of  my  disorder.  There  was  a  charm  in  his  kind- 
ness and  attention  that  softened,  in  some  degree,  the 
violence  of  my  pains.  He  continued  his  visit  lor  some 
time ;  and  when  he  was  about  to  leave  me,  after  pre- 
mising that  I  knew  him  too  well  to  suspect  that  super- 
stition had  any  influence  in  his  mind,  said,  "Let  me 
advise  you,  whenever  you  find  yourself  in  so  waspish 
and  petulant  a  mood,  as  you  must  have  been  in  whui 
you  turned  the  princess  and  her  companions  out  of  the 
room,  to  endeavor  to  check  the  violence  of  your  tem- 
per ;  and  I  think  you  will  find  it  an  excellent  expedient 
for  this  purpose,  if,  while  any  friend  is  kindly  inquiring 
after  your  health,  however  averse  you  may  be  at  the 
moment  to  such  an  inquiry,  instead  of  driving  him  so 
uncivilly  away,  you  would  employ  yourself  in  a  silent 
mental  repetition  of  the  Lord's  prayer :  it  might  prove 
very  salutary,  and  would  certainly  be  much  more  satisfac- 
tory to  your  mind."  No  advice  could  be  better  imagined 
than  this  was  to  divert  the  emotions  of  impatience,  by 
creating  in  the  mind  new  objects  of  attention,  and  turn- 
ing the  raging  current  of  distempered  thought  into  a 
more  pure  and  peaceful  channel.  Experience,  indeed, 
has  enabled  me  to  announce  the  efficacy  and  virtue  of 
this  expedient.  I  have  frequently,  by  the  practice  of  it, 
defeated  the  fury  of  petulant  passions,  and  completely 
subdued  many  of  those  absurdities  which  vex  ana  tease 
us  in  the  hours  of  grief  and  during  the  sorrows  of  sick- 
ness. Others  also  to  whom  I  have  recommended  it, 
have  experienced  from  it  similar  effects.  The  prince, 
"  my  guide,  philosopher,  and  friend,"  a  few  weeks  after 
he  had  given  me  this  wise  and  salutary  advice,  consult- 
ed me  respecting  the  difficulty  he  frequently  labored 
under  in  suppressing  the  violence  of  those  transports  of 
affection  which  he  bore  toward  his  young  and  amiable 
consort,  and  which,  in  a  previous  conversation  on  phi- 
losophic subjects,  I  had  seriously  exhorted  him  to  check, 
under  a  conviction,  that  a  steady  flame  is  more  perma- 
nent and  pure  than  a  raging  fire.  He  asked  me  with 
some  concern  what  expedient  I  could  recommend  to 
him  as  most  likely  to  control  those  emotions  which 
happy  lovers  are  so  anxious  to  indulge.  "  My  dear 
friend,"  I  replied,  "  there  is  no  expedient  can  surpass 
your  own ;  and  whenever  the  intemperance  of  passion 


ON  A  MELANCHOLV  MIND.  235 


is  in  danger  of  subverting  ihe  dictates  of  reason,  repea 
the  Lord's  prayer,  and  I  have  no  doubt  you  will  foil  il 


eat 

no  doubt  you  will  foil  its 
fury." 

When  the  mind  is  thus  enabled  to  check  and  regu- 
late the  effects  of  the  passions,  and  bring  back  the  tem- 
per to  its  proper  tone  and  rational  baws,  the  serenity 
and  calmness  of  solitude  assists  the  achievement,  and 
completes  the  victory.  It  is  then  so  far  from  infusing 
into  the  mind  the  virulent  passions  we  have  before  de- 
scribed, that  it  affords  a  soft  and  pleasing  balm  to  the 
soul ;  and  instead  of  being  its  greatest  enemy,  becomes 
its  highest  blessing  and  its  wannest  friend. 

Solitude,  indeed,  as  I  have  already  observed,  is  far 
from  betraying  well-regulated  minds  either  into  the 
miseries  of  melancholy,  or  the  danger  of  eccentricism. 
It  raises  a  healthy  and  vigorous  imagination  to  its  no- 
blest production,  elevates  it  when  dejected,  calms  it 
when  disturbed,  and  restores  it,  when  partially  disor- 
dered, to  its  natural  tone.  It  is  as  in  every  other  mat- 
ter, whether  physical  or  moral, , the  abuse  of  solitude 
which  renders  it  dangerous  ;  like^eyery  powerful  medi- 
cine, it  is  attended,  when  misapplied,  with  most  mis- 
chievous consequences:  but  when  properly  administer- 
ed, is  pleasant  in  its  taste,  and  highly  salutary  in  its 
effects. j  He  who  knows  how  to  enjoy  it  can 

truly  tell 

To  live  in  solitude  is  with  truth  to  dwell; 

Where  gay  content  with  healthy  temperance  meets, 

And  learning  intermixes  all  its  sweets  ; 

Where  friendship,  elegance,  and  arts  unite 

To  make  the  hours  glide  social,  easy,  bright : 

He  tastes  the  converse  of  the  purest  mind  : 

Though  mild,  yet  manly  :  and  though  plain,  refined  ; 

And  through  the  moral  world  expatiates  wide 

Truth  as  his  end,  and  virtue  as  his  guide. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

The  influence  of  solitude  on  the  passions. 

THE  passions  lose  in  solitude  a  certain  portion  of 
that  regulating  weight  by  which  in  society  they  are 

fuided  and  controled ;  the  counteracting  effects  pro- 
uced  by  variety,  the  restraints  imposed  by  the  obliga- 
tions of  civility,  and  the  checks  which  arise  from  the 
calls  of  humanity,  occur  much  less  frequently  in  retire- 


236 


IN'FLCENCE   OP  SOLITUDE 


ment  than  amidst  the  multifarious  transactions  of  a 
busy  world.  The  desires  and  sensibilities  of  the  heart 
having  no  real  objects  on  which  their  vibrations  can 
pendulate,  are  stimulated  and  increased  by  the  powers 
of  imagination.  Ah1  the  propensities  of  the  soul,  in- 
deed, experience  a  degree  of  restlessness  and  vehe- 
mence greater  than  they  ever  feel  while  diverted  by  the 
pleasures,  subdued  by  the  surrounding  distresses,  and 
engaged  by  the  business  of  active  and  social  life. 

The  calm  which  seems  to  accompany  the  mind  in  its 
retreat  is  deceitful ;  the  passions  are  secretly  at  work 
within  the  heart;  the  imagination  is  continually  heap- 
ing fuel  on  the  latent  fire,  and  at  length  the  laboring 
desire  bursts  forth,  and  glows  with  volcanic  heat  and 
fury.  The  temporary  inactivity  and  inertness  which 
retirement  seems  to  impose,  may  check,  but  cannot  sub- 
due the  energies  of  spirit.  The  high  pride  and  lofty 
ideas  of  great  and  independent  minds  may  be,  for  a 
while,  lulled  into  repose ;  but  the  moment  the  feelings 
of  such  a  character  are  awakened  by  indignity  or  out- 
rage, its  anger  springs  like  an  elastic  body  drawn  from 
its  centre,  and  pierces  with  vigorous  severity  the  object 
that  provoked  it.  The  perils  of  solitude,  indeed,  al- 
ways increase  in  proportion  as  the  sensibilities,  imagi- 
nations, and  passions  of  its  votaries  are  quick,  excur- 
sive, and  violent.  The  man  may  be  the  inmate  of  a 
cottage,  but  the  same  passions  and  inclinations  still 
lodge  within  his  heart :  his  mansion  may  be  changed, 
but  their  residence  is  the  same  ;  and  though  they  ap- 
pear to  be  silent  and  undisturbed,  they  are^secretly  in- 
fluencing all  the  propensities  of  his  heart.  Whatever 
be  the  cause  of  his  retirement,  whether  it  be  a  sense  of 
undeserved  misfortune,  the  ingratitude  of  supposed 
friends,  the  pangs  of  despised  love,  or  the  disappoint- 
ment of  ambition,  memory  prevents  the  wound  from 
healing,  and  stings  the  soul  with  indignation  and  re- 
sentment. The  image  of  departed  pleasures  haunts 
the  mind,  and  robs  it  of  its  wished  tranquillity.  The 
ruling  passion  still  subsists :  it  fixes  itself  more  strong- 
ly on  the  fancy ;  moves  with  greater  agitation ;  and  be- 
cpmes,  in  retirement,  in  proportion  as  it  is  inclined  to 
vice  or  virtue,  either  a  horrid  and  tormenting  spectre,  in- 
flicting appn-hension  and  dismay,  or  a  delightful  and  sup- 
porting angel,  irradiating  the  countenance  with  smiles 
of  joy,  and  filling  the  heart  with  peace  and  gladness. 

Blest  is  the  man,  as  far  as  earth  can  bless, 
Whose  measur'd  passions  reach  no  wild  excess ; 


ON  THE  PASSIONS.  237 

Who,  urged  by  nature's  voice,  her  gifts  enjoys, 
Nor  other  means  than  nature's  force  employs. 
While  warm  with  youth  the  sprightly  current  flows, 
Each  vivid  sense  with  vigorous  rapture  glows  ; 
And  when  he  droops  beneath  the  hand  of  age, 
No  vicious  habit  slings  with  fruitless  rage  ; 
Gradual  his  strength  and  gay  sensations  cease, 
While  joys  tumultuous  sink  in  silent  peace. 

The  extraordinary  power  which  the  passions  assume, 
and  the  improper  channel  in  which  they  are  apt  to  flow 
in  retired  situations,  is  conspicuous  from  the  greater 
acrimony  with  which  they  are  in  general  tainted  in 
small  villages  than  in  large  towns.  It  is  true,  indeed, 
that  they  do  not  always  explode  in  such  situations  with 
the  open  and  daring  violence  \yhich  they  exhibit  in  the 
metropolis  ;  but  lie  buried  as  it  were,  and  mouldering 
in  the  bosom  with  a  more  malignant  flame.  To  those 
who  only  observe  the  listlessness  and  languor  which 
distinguish  the  characters  of  those  who  reside  in  small 
provincial  towns,  the  slow  and  uniform  rotation  of 
amusements  which  fills  up  the  leisure  of  their  lives ; 
the  confused  wildness  of  their  cares  ;  the  poor  subter- 
fuges to  which  they  are  continually  resorting,  in  order 
to  avoid  the  clouds  of  discontent  that  impend  in  angry 
darkness,  over  their  heads;  the  lagging  current  of  their 
drooping  spirits ;  the  miserable  poverty  of  their  intel- 
lectual powers ;  the  eagerness  with  which  they  strive 
to  raise  a  card  party ;  the  transports  they  enjoy  on  the 
prospect  of  any  new  diversion  or  occasional  exhibition; 
the  haste  with  which  they  run  toward  any  sudden,  un- 
expected noise  that  interrupts  the  deep  silence  of  their 
situation ;  and  the  patient  industry  with  which,  from 
day  to  day,  they  watch  each  other's  conduct,  and  circu- 
late reports  of  every  action  of  each  other's  lives,  will 
scarcely  imagine  that  any  virulence  of  passion  can  dis- 
turb the  bosoms  of  persons  who  live  in  so  quiet  and 
seemingly  composed  a  state.  But  the  unoccupied  time 
and  barren  minds  of  such  characters  cause  the  faintest 
emotions,  and  most  common  desires,  to  act  with  all 
the  violence  of  high  and  untamed  passions.  The  low- 
est diversions,  a  cock  fighting,  or  a  pony  race,  make 
the  bosom  of  a  country  'squire  beat  with  the  highest 
rapture ;  vyhile  the  inability  to  attend  the  monthly  ball 
fills  the  minds  of  his  wife  and  daughter  with  the  keen- 
est anguish.  Circumstances,  which  scarcely  make  any 
impression  on  those  who  reside  in  the  metropolis,  plunge 
every  description  of  residents  in  a  country  village  into 


238  INFLUENCE  OP  SOLITUDE 

all  the  extravagances  of  joy,  or  the  dejection  of  sorrow ; 
from  the  peer  to  the  peasant,  from  the  duchess  to  the 
dairy  maid,  all  is  rapture  and  convulsion.  Competition 
is  carried  on  for  the  humble  honors  and  petty  interests 
of  a  sequestered  town,  or  miserable  hamlet,  with  as 
much  heat  and  rancor,  as  it  is  for  the  highest  dignities 
and  greatest  emoluments  of  the  state.  Upon  many  oc- 
casions, indeed,  ambition,  envy,  revenge,  and  all  the 
disorderly  and  malignant  passions,  are  felt  and  exer- 
cised with  a  greater  degree  of  violence  and  obstinacy 
amidst  the  little  contentions  of  claybmlt  cottages,  than 
ever  prevailed  amidst  the  highest  commotions  of  courts. 
Plutarch  relates  that  when  Caesar,  after  his  appoint- 
ment to  the  government  of  Spain,  came  to  a  little  town, 
as  he  was  passing  the  Alps,  his  friends,  by  way  of  mirth, 
took  occasion  to  say,  "  Can  there  here  be  any  disputes 
for  offices,  any  contentions  for  precedency,  or  such  envy 
and  ambition  as  we  behold  among  the  great  in  all  the 
transactions  of  imperial  Rome  ?''  The  idea  betrayed 
their  ignorance  of  human  nature ;  while  the  celebrated 
reply  of  their  great  commander,  that  he  would  rather 
be  thejirst  man  in  this  litlle  town,  t/uin  the  second  exen 
in  the  imperial  city,  si>oke  the  language,  not  of  an  in- 
dividual, but  of  the  species;  and  instructed  them  that 
there  is  no  place,  however  insignificant,  in  which  the 
same  passions  do  not  proportionately  prevail.  The 
humble  competitors  for  village  honors,  however  low 
and  subordinate  they  may  be,  feel  as  great  anxiety  for 
pre-eminence,  as  much  jealousy  of  rivals,  and  as  violent 
envy  against  superiors,  as  agitate  the  bosoms  of  the 
most  ambitious  statesmen  in  contending  for  the  highest 
prize  of  glory,  of  riches,  or  of  power.  The  manner, 
perhaps,  in  which  these  inferior  candidates  exert  tlieir 
passions  may  be  less  artful,  and  the  objects  of  them 
less  noble,  but  they  are  certainly  not  less  virulent. 
"  Having,"  says  Euphelia,  who  had  quitted  London,  to 
enjoy  the  quietude  and  happiness  of  a  rural  village, 
"been  driven  by  the  mere  necessity  of  escaping  from 
absolute  inactivity,  to  make  myself  more  acquainted 
with  the  affairs  and  happiness  of  this  place,  I  am  now 
no  longer  a  stranger  to  rural  conversation  and  employ- 
ments; but  am  far  from  discerning  in  them  more  inno- 
cence or  wisdom  than  in  the  sentiments  or  conduct  of 
those  with  whom  I  have  passed  more  cheerful  and 
more  fashionable  hours.  It  is  common  to  leproitch  the 
tea  table  and  the  park,  with  giving  opportunities  and 
encouragement  to  scandal.  I  cannot  wholly  clear  them 


ON   THE  PASSIONS.  239 

from  the  charge,  but  must,  however,  observe,  in  favor 
of  the  modish  prattlers,  that  if  not  by  principle,  we  are 
at  least  by  accident,  less  guilty  of  defamation  than  the 
country  ladies.  For,  having  greater  numbers  to  ob- 
serve and  censure,  we  are  commonly  content  to  charge 
them  only  with  their  own  faults  or  follies,  and  seldom 
give  way  to  malevolence,  but  such  as  arises  from  injury 
or  affront,  real  or  imaginary,  offered  to  ourselves.  But 
in  those  distant  provinces,  where  the  same  families  in- 
habit the  same  houses  from  age  to  age,  they  transmit 
and  recount  the  faults  of  a  whole  succession.  I  have 
been  informed  how  every  estate  in  the  neighborhood 
was  originally  got,  and  find,  if  I  may  credit  the  ac- 
counts ejiven  me,  that  there  is  not  a  single  acre  in  the 
hands  of  the  right  owner.  I  have  been  told  of  intrigues 
between  beaus  and  toasts,  that  have  been  now  three 
centuries  in  their  quiet  graves ;  and  am  often  entertain- 
ed with  traditional  scandal  on  persons  of  whose  names 
there  would  have  been  no  remembrance,  had  they  not 
committed  somewhat  that  might  disgrace  their  descen- 
dants. If  once  there  happens  a  quarrel  between  the 
principal  persons  of  two  families,  the  malignity  is  con- 
tinued without  end  ;  and  it  is  common  for  old  maids  to 
full  out  about  some  election  in  which  their  grandfathers 
were  competitors.  Thus  malice  and  hatred  descend 
here  with  an  inheritance;  and  it  is  necessary  to  be  well 
versed  in  history,  that  the  various  factions  of  the  coun- 
try may  be  understood.  You  cannot  expect  to  be  on 
good  terms  with  families  who  are  resolved  to  love  no- 
thing in  common;  and  in  selecting  your  intimates, 
you  are,  perhaps,  to  consider  which  party  you  most 
favor  in  the  barons'  wars." 

Resentments  and  enmities  burn  with  a  much  more- 
furious  flame  among  the  thinly-scattered  inhabitants 
of  a  petty  village,  than  amidst  the  ever  varying  con- 
course of  a  great  metropolis.  The  objects  by  which 
the  passions  are  set  on  fire  are  hidden  from  our  view 
by  the  tumults  whicli  prevail  in  a  crowded  city,  and 
the  bosom  willingly  loses  the  pains  which  such  emo- 
tions excite  when  the  causes  which  occasioned  them 
are  forgot:  but  in  country  villages,  the  thorns  by  which 
the  feelings  have  been  hurt  are  continually  before  our 
eyes,  and  preserve  on  every  approach  toward  them,  a 
remembrance  of  the  injuries  sustained.  An  extreme 
devout  and  highly  religious  lady,  who  resided  in  a  re- 
tired hamlet  in  Swisserland,  once  told  me,  in  a  convei- 
sation  011  this  subject,  that  she  had  completely  suppress- 


240  INFLUENCE   OF  SOLITUDE 

ed  all  indignation  against  the  envy,  the  hatred,  and 
the  malice  of  her  surrounding  neighbors ;  for  that  she 
found  they  were  so  deeply  dyed  in  sin,  that  a  rational 
remonstrance  was  lost  upon  them ;  ana  that  the  only 
vexation  she  felt  from  a  sense  of  their  wretchedness 
arose  from  the  idea  that  her  soul  would  at  the  last  day 
be  obliged  to  keep  company  with  such  incorrigible 
wretches. 

The  inhabitants  of  the  country,  indeed,  both  of  the 
lower  and  middling  classes,  cannot  be  expected  to  pos- 
sess characters  of  a  very  respectable  kind,  when  we 
look  at  the  conduct  of  those  who  set  them  the  example, 
A  country  magistrate,  who  has  certainly  great  oppor- 
tunities of  forming  the  manners  and  morals  of  the  dis- 
trict over  which  he  presides,  is  in  general  puffed  up- 
with  high  and  extravagant  conceptions  of  the  supe- 
riority of  his  wisdom,  and  the  extent  of  his  power ; 
and  raising  his  idea  of  the  greatness  of  his  character 
in  an  inverse  proportion  to  his  notions  of  the  insignifi- 
cance and  littleness  of  those  around  him,  he  sits  en- 
throned with  fancied  pre-eminence,  the  disdainful  ty- 
rant, rather  than  the  kind  protector  of  his  neighbors. 
Deprived  of  all  liberal  and  instructive  society,  confined 
in  their  knowledge  both  of  men  and  things,  the  slaves 
of  prejudice  and  the  pupils  of  folly ;  with  contracted 
hearts  and  degraded  faculties  the  inhabitants  of  a 
country  village  feel  all  the  base  and  ignoble  passions, 
sordid  rapacity,  mean  envy,  and  insulting  ostentation 
more  forcibly  than  they  are  felt  either  in  the  enlarged 
society  of  the  metropolis,  or  even  in  the  confined  cir- 
cle of  the  monastery. 

The  social  virtues,  indeed,  are  almost  totally  excluded 
from  cloisters,  as  well  as  from  every  other  kind  of  soli- 
tary institution :  for  when  the  habits,  interests,  and 
pleasures  of  the  species  are  pent  up  by  any  means  within 
a  narrow  compass,  mutual  jealousies  and  exasperations 
must  prevail;  every  trifling  immunity,  petty  privilege, 
and  paltry  distinction,  becomes  an  object  of  the  most 
violent  contention;  and  increasing  animosities  at 
length  reach  to  such  a  degree  of  virulence,  that  the 
pious  flock  is  converted  into  a  herd  of  famished  wolves, 
eager  to  worry  and  devour  each  other. 

The  laws  of  every  convent  strictly  enjoin  the  holy 
sisterhood  to  live  in  Christian  charity  and  sincere  affec- 
tion with  each  other.  I  have,  however,  when  attend- 
ing these  fair  recluses  in  my  professional  character, 
observed  many  of  them  with  wrinkles,  that  seemed 


ON  THE  PASSIONS.  241 

rather    the    effect   of  angry    perturbation,   than    oi 

Cceful  age,  with  aspects  formed  rather  by  envy, 
red,  malice,  and  all  uncharitableness,  than  by 
mild  benevolence  and  singleness  of  heart.  But 
I  should  do  injustice  if  I  did  not  declare,  that  1 
have  seen  some  few  who  were  strangers  to  such  un- 
worthy passions;  whose  countenances  were  unin- 
dented  by  their  effects :  and  whose  beauty  and  comeli- 
ness still  shone  in  their  native  lustre  and  simplicity. 
It  was,  indeed,  painful  to  reflect  upon  the  sufferings 
which  these  lovely  innocents  must  endure,  until  the 
thoughts  of  their  lost  hopes,  defeated  happiness,  and 
unmerited  wrongs,  should  have  changed  the  milky 
kindness  of  their  virtuous  dispositions  into  the  gall-like 
bitterness  of  vexatipn  and  despair;  until  the  bright- 
ness of  their  charming  features  should  be  darkened  by 
the  clouds  of  discontent,  which  their  continued  impri- 
sonment would  create ;  and  until  their  cheerful  and 
easy  tempers  should  be  perverted  by  the  corrosions  of 
those  vindictive  passions  which  the  jealous  furies,  with 
whom  they  were  immured,  and  to  whom  they  formed 
so  striking  a  contrast,  must  in  time  so  cruelly  inflict. 
These  lovely  mourners,  on  entering  the  walls  ol  a  con- 
vent, are  obliged  to  submit  to  the  tyranny  of  an  envi- 
ous superior,  or  the  jealousy  of  the  older  inmates, 
whose  angry  passions  arise  in  proportion  as  they  per- 
ceive others  less  miserable  than  themselves ;  and  re- 
tiring, at  the  stated  periods,  from  their  joint  persecu- 
tion, they  find  that  the  gloomy  solitude  to  which  they 
have  flown,  only  tends  to  aggravate  and  widen  the 
wound  it  was  expected  to  cure.  It  is,  indeed,  almost 
impossible  for  any  female,  however  amiable,  to  pre- 
serve in  the  joyless  gloom  of  conventual  solitude  the 
cheering  sympathies  of  nature.  A  retrospect  of  her 
past  life  most  probably  exhibits  to  her  tortured  fancy, 
superstition  stinging  with  scorpion  like  severity  her 
pious  mind ;  love  sacrificed  on  the  altar  of  family  pride ; 
or  fortune  ruined  by  the  avarice  of  a  perfidious  guar- 
dian ;  while  the  future  presents  to  her  view  the  dreary 
prospect  of  an  eternal  and  melancholy  separation  from 
all  the  enjoyments  of  society,  and  a  continual  exposure 
to  the  petulance  and  ill  humorof  the  dissatisfied  sister- 
hood. What  disposition,  however  mild  and  gentle  by 
nature,  can  preserve  itself  amidst  such  confluent  dan- 
gers? How  is  it  possible  to  prevent  the  most  amiable 
tenderness  of  heart,  the  most  lively  and  sensible  mind 
from  becoming,  under  such  circumstances,  a  prey  to 
XI 


342  INFLUENCE  OF  SOLITUDE! 

the  bitterness  of  affliction  and  malevolence  ?  Those 
who  have  had  an  opportunity  to  observe  the  operation 
of  the  passions  on  the  habits,  humors,  and  dispositions 
of  recluse  females,  have  perceived  with  horror  the 
cruel  and  unrelenting  fury  with  which  they  goad  the 
soul,  and  with  what  an  imperious  and  irresistible  voice 
they  command  obedience  to  their  inclination. 

The  passion  of  love,  in  particular,  acts  with  much 
greater  force  upon  the  mind  that  endeavors  to  escape 
from  its  effects  by  retirement,  than  it  does  when  it  is 
either  resisted  or  indulged. 

Retirement,  under  such  circumstances,  is  a  childish 
expedient:  it  is  expecting  to  achieve  that,  by  means  of 
a  fearful  night,  which  it  is  frequently  too  much  for  the 
courage  and  the  constancy  of  heroes  to  subdue.  Re- 
tirement is  the  very  nest  and  harbor  of  this  powerful 
passion.  How  many  abandon  the  gay  and  jovial  cir- 
cles of  the  world,  renounce  even  the  most  calm  and 
satisfactory  delights  of  friendship,  and  quit,  without  a 
sigh,  the  most  delicious  and  highest  seasoned  pleasures 
of  society,  to  seek  in  retirement  the  superior  joys  of 
love !  a  passion  in  whose  high  and  tender  delights  tha 
insolence  of  power,  the  treachery  of  friendship,  and 
the  most  vindictive  malice,  is  immediately  forgot.  It  i? 
a  passion,  when  pure,  that  can  never  experience  the 
least  decay;  no  course  of  time,  no  change  of  place,  no 
alteration  of  circumstances,  can  erase~or  lessen  the 
ideas  of  that  bliss  which  it  has  once  imprinted  on  tlie 
heart.  Its  characters  are  indelible.  Solitude,  in  its 
most  charming  state,  and  surrounded  by  its  aniplest 
powers,  affords  no  resource  against  its  anxieties,  its 
jealous  fears,  its  tender  alarms,  its  soft  sorrows,  or  its 
inspiringly  tumultuous  joys.  The  bosom  that  is  once 
deeply  wounded  by  the  barbed  dart  of  real  love,  seldom 
recovers  its  tranquillity,  but  enjoys,  if  happy,  the  high- 
est of  human  delights ;  and  if  miserable,  the  deepest 
of  human  torments.  But,  although  the  love-sick  shep- 
herd fills  the  lonely  vallies,  and  the  verdant  groves. 
with  the  softest  sighs,  or  severest  sorrows,  and  the 
cells  of  the  monasteries  and  convents  resound  with 
heavy  groans  and  deep-toned  curses  against  the  malig- 
nity of  this  passion,  solitude  may  perhaps,  for  a  while 
suspend,  if  it  cannot  extinguish  its  fury.  Of  the  truth 
of  this  observation,  the  history  of  those  unfortunate, 
but  real  lovers,  Abeiard  and  Eloisa,  furnishes  a  memo- 
rable instance. 

In  the  twelfth  century,  and  while  Louis  the  Gross 


ON  THE  PASSIONS.  243 

filled  the  throne  of  France,  was  born  in  the  retired 
village  of  Palais,  in  Brittany,  the  celebrated  Peter  Abe- 
lard.  Nature  had  lavished  the  highest  perfections  both 
on  his  person  and  his  mind :  a  liberal  education  im- 
proved to  their  utmost  possible  extent  the  gifts  of  na- 
ture; and  he  became  in  a  few  years  the  most  learned, 
elegant,  and  )>olite  gentleman  of  his  age  and  country. 
Philosophy  and  divinity  were  his  favorite  studies:  and 
lest  the-  aflfairs  of  the  world  should  prevent  him  from 
becoming  a  proficient  in  them,  he  surrendered  his  birth- 
right to  his  younger  brethren,  and  travelled  to  Paris, 
in  order  to  cultivate  his  mind  under  that  great  professor, 
"William  des  Champeaux.  The  eminence  he  attained  as 
a  professor,  while  it  procured  him  the  esteem  of  the  ra- 
tional and  discerning,  excited  the  envy  of  his  rivals.  But. 
beside  his  uncommon  merit  as  a  scholar,  he  possessed 
a  greatness  of  soul  which  nothing  could  subdue.  He 
looked  upon  riches  and  grandeur  with  contempt ;  and 
his  only  ambition  was  to  render  his  name  famous 
among  learned  men,  and  to  acquire  the  reputation  of 
the  greatest  doctor  of  his  age.  But  when  he  had  at- 
tained his  seven  and  twentieth  year  of  age,  all  his  phi- 
losophy could  not  guard  him  against  the  shafts  of  love. 
Not  far  from  the  place  where  Abelard  read  his  lectures, 
lived  a  canon  01  the  church  of  Notre  Dame,  named 
Fulbert,  whose  niece,  the  clebrated  Eloisa,  had  been 
educated  under  his  own  eye  with  the  greatest  care  and 
attention.  Her  person  was  well  proportioned,  her  fea- 
tures regular,  her  eyes  sparkling,  her  lips  vermilion 
and  well  formed,  her  complexion  animated,  her  air  fine, 
and  her  aspect  sweet  and  agreeable.  She  possessed  a 
surprising  quickness  of  wit.  an  incredible  memory,  and 
a  considerable  share  of  learning,  joined  with  great  hu- 
mility and  tenderness  of  disposition:  and  all  these  ac- 
complishments were  attended  with  something  so  grace- 
ful and  moving,  that  it  was  impossible  for  those  who 
saw  her  not  to  love  her.  The  eye  of  Abelard  was 
charmed,  and  his  whole  soul  intoxicated  in  the  passion 
of  love,  the  moment  he  beheld  and  conversed  with 
this  extraordinary  woman  ;  and  he  laid  aside  all  other 
engagements  to  attend  to  his  passion.  He  was  deaf 
to  the  calls  both  reason  and  philosophy,  and  thought  of 
nothing  but  her  company  and  conversation.  An  oppor- 
tunity, fortunate  for  his  love,  but  fatal  to  his  happiness, 
soon  occurred.  Fulbert,  whose  affection  for  his  niece 
was  unbounded,  willing  to  improve  to  the  highest  de- 
gree the  excellency  of  those  talents  which  nature  had 


244  INFLUENCE  OF   SOLITUDE 

so  bountifully  bestowed  on  her,  engaged  Abelard  as 
her  preceptor,  and  received  him  in  mat  character  into 
his  house.  A  mutual  passion  strongly  infused  itself 
into  the  hearts  of  both  pupil  and  preceptor.  She  con- 
sented to  become  his  mistress,  but,  for  a  long  time,  re- 
fused to  become  his  wife.  The  secret  of  their  loves 
could  not  remain  long  concealed  from  the  eves  of  Ful- 
bert,  and  the  lover  was  dismissed  from  his  house:  but 
Eloisa  flew  with  rapture  to  his  arms,  and  was  placed 
under  the  protection  of  his  sister,  where  she  remained  ; 
until,  from  the  cruel  vengeance  which  her  uncle  exer- 
cised on  the  unfortunate  Abelard,  she  was  induced  at 
his  request  to  enter  into  the  convent  of  Argenteuil,  and 
he  into  the  monastery  of  St.  Gildas.  In  this  cloister, 
the  base  of  which  was  washed  by  the  waves  of  a  sea 
less  turbulent  than  the  passions  which  disturbed  his 
soul,  the  unfortunate  Abelard,  endeavored  by  the  exer- 
cises of  religion  and  study,  to  obliterate  all  remem- 
brance of  his  love ;  but  his  virtue  was  too  feeble  for  the 
great  attempt.  A  course  of  many  years,  however,  had 
passed  in  penitence  and  mortification,  without  any  com- 
munication between  them,  and  further  time  might  pos- 
sibly have  calmed  in  a  still  greater  degree  the  violence 
of  their  feelings ;  but  a  letter  which  Abelard  wrote  to 
his  friend  Philintus,  in  order  to  comfort  him  under 
some  affliction  \yhich  had  befallen  him,  in  which  he 
related  his  affection  for  Eloisa  with  great  tenderness, 
fell  into  her  hands,  and  induced  her  to  break  through 
the  silence  which  had  so  long  prevailed,  by  writing 
to  him  a  letter,  the  contents  of  which  revived  in  his 
mind  all  the  former  furies  of  his  passion.  Time,  ab- 
sence, solitude,  and  prayer,  had  in  no  degree  diminished 
the  amiable  tenderness  of  the  still  lorely  Eloisa,  orau<r- 
mented  the  fortitude  of  the  unfortunate  Abelard.  The 
composing  influence  of  religion  seems  to  have  made 
an  earlier  impression  upon  his  feelings  than  it  did  upon 
those  of  Eloisa;  but  he  continually  counteracted  its  ef- 
fects, by  comparing  his  former  felicity  with  his  present 
torments;  and  he  answered  Eloisa's  letter,  not  as  a 
moral  preceptor,  or  holy  confessor,  but  as  a  still  fond 
and  adoring  lover ;  as  a  man  whose  wounded  feelings 
were  in  some  degree  alleviated  by  a  recollection  of  his 
former  joys;  ana  who  could  only  console  the  sorrows 
of  his  mistress,  by  avowing  an  equal  tenderness,  and 
confessing  the  anguish  with  which  their  separation 
rent  his  soul.  The  walls  of  Paraclete  resounded  his 
gighs  less  frequently,  and  re-echoed  less  fervently  with 


ON  THE  PASSIONS.  245 

his  sorrows,  than  those  of  St.  Gildas ;  for  his  continued 
solitude,  so  far  from  affording  him  relief,  had  adminis- 
tered an  aggravating  medicine  to  his  disease ;  and  af- 
forded that  vulture,  grief,  greater  leisure  to  tear  and 
prey  upon  his  disordered  heart.  "  Religion,"  says  he, 
''commands  me  to  pursue  virtue  since  Ihave  nothing 
to  hope  for  from  love ;  but  love  still  asserts  its  dominion 
in  my  fancy,  and  entertains  itself  with  past  pleasures: 
memory  supplies  the  place  of  a  mistress.  Piety  and 
duty  are  not  always  the  fruits  of  retirement.  Even 
in  deserts,  when  the  dew  of  heaven  falls  not  on  us, 
we  love  what  we  ought  no  longer  to  love.  The  pas^ 
sions,  stirred  up  by  solitude,  fill  those  regions  of  death 
and  silence  ;  and  it  is  very  seldom  that  what  ought  to 
be  is  truly  followed  there,  and  that  God  only  is  loved 
and  served." 

The  letters  of  Eloisa  were  soft,  gentle,  and  endear- 
•ing ;  but  they  breathed  the  warmest  language  of  ten- 
derness and  unconquerable  passion.  "I  have  your 
picture,"  says  she,  "  in  my  room.  I  never  pass  by  it 
without  stopping  to  look  at  it ;  and  yet  when  you  were 
present  with  me.  I  scarce  even  cast  my  eyes  upon  it. 
If  a  picture,  which  is  but  a  mute  representation  of  an  ob- 
ject, can  give  such  pleasure,  what  cannot  letters  inspire  1 
Letters  have  souls;  they  have  in  them  all  that  force 
which  expresses  the  transports  of  the  heart :  they  have 
all  the  fire  of  our  passions ;  they  can  raise  them  as 
much  as  if  the  persons  themselves  were  present;  they 
have  all  the  softness  and  delicacy  of  speech,  and  some- 
times a  boldness  of  expression  even  beyond  it.  We 
may  write  to  each  other;  so  innocent  a  pleasure  is  not 
forbidden  us.  Let  us  not  lose,  through  negligence,  the 
only  happiness  which  is  left  to  us,  and  the  only  one 
perhaps,  which  the  malice  of  our  enemies  can  never 
ravish  from  us.  I  shall  read  that  you  are  my  husband, 
and  you  shall  see  me  address  you  as  a  wife.  In  spite 
of  all  your  misfortunes,  you  may  be  what  you  please  in 
your  letters.  Letters  were  first  invented  for  comfort- 
mg  such  solitary  wretches  as  myself.  Having  lost  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  you,  I  shall  compensate  this  loss  by 
the  satisfaction  I  shall  find  in  your  writings :  there  1 
shall  read  your  most  secret  thoughts:  I  ^shall  carry 
them  always  about  me ;  I  shall  kiss  them  every  mo- 
ment. If  you  can  be  capable  of  jealousy,  let  it  be  for 
the  fond  curiosity  I  shall  bestow  on  your  letters,  and 
envy  only  the  happiness  of  those  rivals.  That  writing 
may  be  no  trouble  to  you,  write  always  to  me  carelessly 
21* 


246  INFLUENCE  OP  SOLITUDE 

and  without  study :  I  had  rather  read  the  dictates  of 
the  heart  than  of  the  brain.  I  cannot  live,  if  you  do 
not  tell  me  you  always  love  me.  You  cannot  hut  re- 
member, (for  what  do  not  lovers  remember?)  with 
what  pleasure  I  have  passed  whole  days  in  hearing  you 
discourse ;  how,  when  you  was  absent,  I  shut  myself  up 
from  every  one  to  write  to  you  ;  how  uneasy  I  was  till 
my  letter  had  come  to  your  hands ;  what  artful  manage- 
ment was  required  to  engage  confidants.  This  detail, 
perhaps,  surprises  you,  and  you  are  in  pain  for  what 
will  follow :  but  I  am  no  longer  ashamed  that  my  pas- 
sion has  had  no  bounds  for  you ;  for  I  have  done 
more  than  all  this:  I  have  hated  myself  that  I  might 
love  you.  I  came  hither  to  ruin  myself  in  a  perpetual 
imprisonment,  that  I  might  make  you  live  quiet  and 
easy.  Nothing  but  virtue,  joined  to  a  love  perfectly 
disengaged  from  the  commerce  of  the  senses,  could 
have  produced  such  effects.  Vice  never  inspires  any 
thing  like  this.  How  did  I  deceive  myself  with  the 
hopes  that  you  would  be  wholly  mine  when  I  took  the 
veil,  and  engaged  myself  to  live  for  ever  under  your 
laws  !  For,  in  being  professed,  I  vowed  no  more  than 
to  be  yours  only  ;  and  I  obliged  myself  voluntarily  to 
a  confinement  in  which  you  denied  to  place  me.  Death 
only  can  make  me  leave  the  place  where  you  have  fixed 
me;  and  then  too  my  ashes  shall  rest  here,  and  wait 
for  yours,  in  order  to  show  my  obedience  and  devoted- 
ness  to  you  to  the  latest  moment  possible." 

Abelard,  while  he  strove,  in  his  reply,  to  adhere  to  the 
dictates  of  reason,  betrayed  the  lurking  tenderness  of 
his  heart.  "  Deliver  yourself,  Eloisa,"  says  he,  "  from 
the  shameful  remains  of  a  passion  which  has  taken  too 
deep  root.  Remember  that  the  least  thought  for  any 
other  than  God  is  an  adultery.  If  you  could  see  me 
here,  pale,  meagre,  melancholy,  surrounded  by  a  band 
of  persecuting  monks,  who  feel  my  reputation  for 
learning  as  a  reproach  of  their  stupidity  and  ignorance, 
my  emaciated  figure  as  a  slander  on  their  gross  ana 
sensual  corpulency,  and  my  prayers  as  an  example  for 
their  reformation,  what  would  you  say  to  the  unman- 
ly sighs,  and  unavailing  tears,  by  which  they  are  de- 
ceived ?  Alas !  I  am  bowed  dovyn  by  the  oppressive 
weight  of  love,  rather  than  contrition  for  past  offences. 
Oh,  my  Eloisa,  pity  me,  and  endeavor  to  free  my  labor- 
ing soul  from  its  captivity !  If  your  vocation  be,  as 
you  say,  my  wish,  deprive  me  not  of  the  merit  of  it 
by  your  continual  inquietudes:  tell  me  that  you  will 


ON  THE  PASSIONS.  247 

honor  the  habit  which  covers  you  by  an  inward  retire- 
ment. Fear  God  that  you  may  be  delivered  from  your 
frailties.  Love  him,  if  you  would  advance'  in  virtue. 
Be  not  uneasy  in  the  cloister,  for  it  is  the  dwelling  of 
saints ;  embrace  your  bands,  they  are  the  chains  of 
Jesus,  and  he  will  lighten  them,  and  bear  with  you,  if 
you  bear  them  with  humility  and  repentance.  Consider 
me  no  more,  I  entreat  you,  as  a  founder,  or  as  a  person 
in  any  way  deserving  your  esteem  ;  for  your  encomiums 
do  but  ill  agree  with  the  multiplying  weakness  of  my 
heart.  I  am  a  miserable  sinner,  prostrate  before  my 
Judge ;  and  when  the  rays  of  grace  break  on  my 
troubled  soul,  I  press  the  earth  with  my  lips,  and  min- 
gle my  sighs  ana  tears  in  the  dust.  Couldest  thou  sur- 
vey thy  wretched  lover  thus  lost  and  forlorn,  thoa 
wouldest  no  longer  solicit  his  affection.  The  tenderness 
of  thy  heart  would  not  permit  thee  to  interpose  an 
earthly  passion,  which  can  only  tend  to  deprive  him  of 
all  hopes  of  heavenly  grace  and  future  comfort.  Thou 
wouldest  not  wish  to  be  the  object  of  sighs  and  tears, 
which  ought  to  be  directed  to  God  alone.  Canst  thou, 
my  Eloisa,  become  the  confederate  of  my  evil  genius, 
and  be  the  instrument  to  promote  sin's  yet  unfinished 
conquest  ?  What,  alas !  couldest  thou  not  achieve  with 
a  heart,  the  weaknesses  of  which  you  so  well  know? 
But,  oh !  let  me  conjure  you,  by  all  the  sacred  ties,  to 
forget  for  ever  the  wretched  Abelard,  and  thereby  con- 
tribute to  his  salvation.  Let  me  entreat  you  by  our  for- 
mer joys,  and  by  our  now  common  misfortunes,  not  to 
abet  my  destruction.  The  highest  affection  you  can 
now  show  me,  is  to  hide  your  tenderness  from  my  view 
and  to  renounce  me  for  ever.  Oh,  Eloisa !  be  devoted 
to  God  alone  ;  for  I  here  release  you  from  all  engage- 
ments to  me." 

The  conflict  between  love  and  religion  tore  the  soul 
of  Eloisa  with  pangs  far  more  violent  and  destructive. 
There  is  scarcely  a  line  of  her  reply  to  Abelard,  that 
does  not  show  the  dangerous  influence  which  solitude 
had  given  to  the  concealed,  but  unsmothered,  passion 
that  glowed  within  her  breast.  "  Veiled  as  I  am,"  she 
exclaims,  "behold  in  what  a  disorder  you  have  plunged 
me !  How  difficult  it  is  to  fisrht  always  for  duty  against 
inclination!  I  know  the  obligation  which  this  sacred  veil 
has  imposed  on  me ;  but  feel  more  strongly  the  power 
which  a  long  and  habitual  passion  has  gained  over  my 
heart.  I  am  the  victim  of  almighty  love :  my  passion 
troubles  my  mind,  and  disorders  my  senses.  My  soul 


218  INFLUENCE   OP  SOLITUDE 

is  sometimes  influenced  by  the  sentiments  of  piely 
which  my  reflections  inspire,  but  the  next  moment  I 
yield  myself  up  to  the  tenderness  of  mv  feelings,  and 
to  the  suggestions  of  my  affection.  My  imagination 
riots  with  wild  excursion  in  the  scenes  of  past  delights. 
I  disclose  to  you  one  moment  what  I  would  not  have 
told  you  a  nvoment  before.  I  resolve  no  longer  to  love 
you  ;  I  consider  the  solemnity  of  the  vow  I  have  made, 
and  the  awfulness  of  the  veil  I  have  taken  ;  but  there 
arises,  unexpectedly,  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart,  a 
passion  which  triumphs  over  all  these  notions,  and, 
while  it  darkens  my  reason,  destroys  my  devotion. 
You  reign  in  all  the  close  and  inward  retreats  of  my 
soul ;  at>d  I  know  not  how  nor  where  to  attack  you 
with  any  prospect  of  success.  When  I  endeavor  to 
break  the  chains  which  bind  me  so  closely  to  you,  I 
only  deceive  myself,  and  all  my  efforts  serve  only  to 
confirm  my  captivity,  and  to  rivet  our  hearts  more 
firmly  to  each  other.  Oh  t  for  pity's  sake,  comply  with 
my  request ;  and  endeavor  by  this  means,  to  make  me 
renounce  my  desires,  by  showing  me  the  obligation 
I  am  under  to  renounce  you,  If  you  are  still  a  lover, 
or  a  father,  oh !  help  a  mistress,  and  give  comfort  to. 
the  distraction  of  an  afflicted  child.  Surely  these  dear 
and  tender  names  will  excite  the  emotion  either  of  pity 
or  of  love.  Gratify  my  request ;  only  continue  to  write 
to  me,  and  T  shall  continue  to  perform  the  hard  duties 
of  my  station  without  profaning  that  character  which 
my  love  for  you  induced  me  to  assume.  Under  your 
advice  and  admonition  I  shall  willingly  humble  myself, 
and  submit  with  penitence  and  resignation  to  the  won-* 
derful  providence  of  God,  who  does  all  things  for  our 
sanctifk-ation  ;  who?  by  his  grace  purifies  all  that  is  vi- 
cious and  corrupt  in  our  natures;  and,  by  the  incon-. 
ceivable  riches  of  his  mercy,  draws  us  to  himself  against 
our  wishes,  and  by  degrees  opens  our  eyes  to  discern 
the  greatness  of  that  bounty  which  at  first  we  are  in- 
capable of  understanding.  Virtue  is  too  a%miable  not  to 
be  embraced  when  you  reveal  her  charms,  and  vice  too 
hideous  not  to  be  avoided  when  you  show  her  defor^ 
mities.  When  you  are  pleased,  every  thin^  seems 
lovely  to  me.  Nothing  is  frightful  or  difficult  when 
you  are  by.  I  am  only  weak  when  I  am  alone,  and  un- 
supported by  you ;  and  therefore  it  depends  on  you 
alone  that  I  may  be  such  as  you  desire.  Oh  !  that  you 
had  not  so  powerful  an  influence  over  all  my  soul!  I* 
is  your  fears,  surely,  that  make  you  thus  deaf  to  my 


ON  THE  PASSIONS.  249 

entreaties,  and  negligent  of  ray  desires:  but  what  i3 
there  for  you  to  fear  ?  When  we  lived  happily  together 
you  might  have  doubted  whether  it  was  pleasure  or  af- 
fection that  united  me  to  you ;  but  the  place  from  which 
I  now  indite  my  lamentations  must  have  removed  that 
idea,  if  it  ever  could  find  a  place  in  your  mind.  Even 
within  these  gloomy  walls,  my  heart  springs  toward 
you  with  more  affection  than  it  felt,  if  possible,  in  the 
gay  and  glittering  world.  Had  pleasure  been  my 
guide,  the  world  would  have  been  the  theatre  of  my 
joys.  Two  and  twenty  years  only  of  my  life  had  worn 
away,  when  the  lover  on  whom  my  soul  doated  was 
cruelly  torn  from  my  arms ;  and  at  that  age  female 
charms  are  not  generally  despised  ;  but.  instead  of  seek- 
ing to  indulge  the  pleasures  of  youth,  your  Eloisa, 
when  deprived  of  thee,  renounced  the  world,  suppress- 
ed the  emotions  of  sense,  at  a  time  when  the  pulses 
beat  with  the  warmest  ardor,  and  buried  herself  within 
the  cold  and  cheerless  region  of  the  cloister.  To  you 
she  consecrated  the  flower  of  her  charms ;  to  you  sh  : 
now  devotes  the  poor  remains  of  faded  beauty ;  and 
dedicates  19  heaven  and  to  you,  her  tedious  days  and 
widowed  nights  in  solitude  and  sorrow." 

The  passion,  alas !  which  Eloisa  thus  fondly  nourisli- 
ed  in  her  bosom,  like  an  adder,  to  goad  and  sting  her 
peace  of  mind,  was  very  little  of  a  spiritual  nature; 
and  the  walls  of  Paraclete  only  re-echoed  more  fervent 
sighs  than  she  had  before  breathed,  and  witnessed  a 
more  abundant  flow  of  tears  than  she  had  shed  in  the 
cells  of  Argenteuil,  over  the  memory  of  departed  joys 
with  her  beloved  Abelard.  Her  letters,  indeed,  show 
with  what  toilsome  but  ineffectual  anxiety  she  endea- 
vored to  chasten  her  mind,  and  support  her  fainting 
virtue,  as  well  by  her  own  reasoning  and  reflection,  as 
by  his  counsels  and  exhortations;  but  the  passion  had 
tenaciously  rooted  itself  at  the  very  bottom  of  her 
heart :  and  it  was  not  until  the  close  of  life  that  she 
was  able  to  repress  the  transports  of  her  imagination, 
and  subdue  the  wild  sallies  of  her  fond  and  fertile 
fancy.  Personally  separated  from  each  other,  she  in- 
dulged a  notion  that  her  love  could  not  be  otherwise 
than  pure  and  spiritual ;  but  there  are  many  parts  of 
letters  which  show  how  much  she  was  deceived  by  this 
idea ;  for  in  all  the  fancied  chastity  of  their  tender  and, 
too  ardent  loves, 

"  Back  thro'  the  pleasing  maze  of  sense  she  ran, 
"  And  felt  within  the  slave  of  love  and  man." 


250  INFLUENCE   OP  SOLITUDE 

The  wild  and  extravagant  excesses  to  which  the  fan- 
cy and  the  feelings  of  Eloisa  were  carried,  was  not  oc- 
casioned merely  by  the  warm  impiilses  of  unchecked 
nature;  but  were  forced,  to  the  injury  of  virtue,  and 
the  distraction  of  reason,  by  the  rank  hot  bed  of  monas- 
tic solitude.  The  story  of  these  celebrated  lovers, 
when  calmly  examined,  and  properly  understood, 
proves  how  dangerous  it  is  to  recede  entirely  from  the 
pleasures  and  occupations  of  social  life,  and  how  deeply 
the  imagination  may  be  corrupted,  ana  the  passions  in- 
flamed, during  a  splenetic  and  ill-prepared  retirement 
from  the  world.  The  frenzies  which  follow  disappoint' 
ed  love,  are  of  all  others  the  most  likely  to  settle  into 
habits  of  the  deepest  melancholy.  -The  finest  sensibi- 
lities of  the  heart,  the  purest  tenderness  of  the  soul, 
when  joined  with  a  warm  constitution,  and  an  ardent 
imagination,  experience  from  interruption  and  control 
the  highest  possible  state  of  exasperation.  Solitude 
confirms  the  feelings  such  a  situation  creates  ;  and  the 
passions  and  inclinations  of  a  person  laboring  under 
such  impressions  are  more  likely  to  be  corrupted  and 
inflamed  by  the  leisure  of  retirement,  than  they  would 
be  even  by  engaging  in  all  the  lazy  opulence  and  wan- 
ton plenty  of  a  debauched  metropolis. 

The  affection  which  Petrarch  entertained  for  Laura 
was  refined,  elevated,  and  virtuous,  and  differed,  in  al- 
most every  ingredient  of  it,  from  the  luxurious  fond- 
ness of  the  unfortunate  Eloisa;  but  circumstances  se- 
parated him  from  the  beloved  object;  and  he  labored 
during  many  years  of  his  life,  under  the  oppression  of 
that  grievous  melancholy  which  disappointment  uni- 
formly inflicts.  He  first  beheld  her  as  she  was  going 
to  the  church  of  the  monastery  of  St.  Claire.  She 
was  dressed  in  green,  and  her  gown  was  embroidered 
with  violets.  Her  face,  her  air,  her  gait,  appeared  some- 
thing more  than  mortal.  He  person  was  delicate,  her 
eyes  tender  and  sparkling,  and  her  eyebrows  black  as 
ebony.  Golden  locks  waved  over  her  shoulders  whiter 
than  snow,  and  the  ringlets  were  woven  by  the  fingers 
of  love.  Her  neck  was  well  formed,  and  her  complex- 
ion animated  by  the  tints  of  nature,  which  art  vainly 
attempts  to  imitate.  When  she  opened  her  month, 
you  perceived  the  beauty  of  pearls,  and  the  sweetness 
of  roses.  She  was  full  of  graces.  Nothing  was  so  soft 
as  her  looks,  so  modest  as  her  carriage,  so  touching  as 
the  sound  of  her  voice.  An  air  of  gayety  and  tender- 
jiess  breathed  around  her  j  but  so  pure  and  happily  tern- 


ON  THE  PASSIONS.  251 

t>ered,  as  to  inspire  every  beholder  with  the  sentiment-^ 
of  virtue ;  for  she  was  chaste  as  the  spangled  dewdrop 
on  the  thorn.  Such  was  the  description  given  of  this 
divine  creature  by  her  enslaved  lover.  But,  unfortu- 
nately for  his  happiness,  she  was  at  this  time  married 
to  Hugues  de  Sade,  whose  family  was  originally  of 
Avignon,  and  held  the  first  offices  there.  Notwith- 
standing the  sufferings  he  underwent  from  the  natural 
agitation  of  an  affection  so  tender  as  that  which  now 
engrossed  his  soul,  he  owns  that  Laura  behaved  to 
him  with  kindness  so  long  as  he  concealed  his  passion ; 
but  when  she  discovered  that  he  was  captivated  with 
her  charms,  she  treated  him  with  great  severity ;  avoid- 
ing every  place  it  was  likely  he  "would  frequent,  and 
concealing  her  face  under  a  large  veil  whenever  they 
accidentally  met.  The  whole  soul  of  Petrarch  was 
overthrown  by  this  disastrous  passion  ;  and  he  felt  all 
the  visitation  of  unfortunate  love  as  grievously  as  if 
it  had  been  founded  upon  less  virtuous  principles.  He 
endeavored  to  calm  and  tranquillize  the  troubles  of  his 
breast  by  retiring  to  the  celebrated  solitude  of  Vaucluse, 
a  place  in  which  nature  delighted  to  appear  under  a 
form  the  most  singular  and  romantic;  "But,  alas!" 
says  he,  "I  knew  not  what  I  was  doing.  The 
resource  was  ill  suited  to  the  safety  I  sought.  Soli- 
tude was  incapable  of  mitigating  the  severity  of 
my  sorrows.  The  griefs  that  hung  around  my 
heart,  consumed  me  like  a  devouring  flame.  I  had 
no  means  of  flying  from  their  attacks.  I  was  alone, 
without  consolation,  and  in  the  deepest  distress,  with- 
out even  the  counsel  of  a  friend  to  assist  me.  Melan^ 
choly  and  despair  shot  their  poisoned  arrows  against 
my  defenceless  breast,  and  I  filled  the  unsoothing  and  • 
romantic  vale  with  my  sighs  and  lamentations.  The 
muse  indeed,  conveyed  my  sufferings  to  the  world; 
but  while  the  poet  was  praised,  the  unhappy  lover  re- 
mained unpitied  and  forlorn." 

The  love  which  inspired  the  lays  of  Petrarch  was  a 
pure  arid  perfect  passion  ol  the  heart ;  and  his  suffer- 
ings were  rendered  peculiarly  poignant  by  a  melan- 
choly sense  of  the  impossibility  of  ever  being  united 
with  the  object  9f  it ;  but  the  love  of  Abelard  and 
Eloisa  was  a  furious  heat  of  wild  desire.  This  pas 
sion  flows  clear  or  muddied,  peaceful  or  violent,  in  pro- 
portion to  the  sources  from  which  it  springs.  When 
it  arises  from  pure  and  unpolluted  sources,  its  stream 
is  clear,  peaceful,  and  surrounded  with  delights :  but 


252  INFLUENCE  OF   SOLITUDE 

•when  its  source  is  foul,  and  its  course  improperly  di- 
rected, it  foams  and  rages,  overswells  its  banks,  and  de- 
stroys the  scenes  which  nature  intended  it  to  fertilize 
and  adorn.  The  different  effects  produced  by  the  dif- 
ferent kinds  of  this  powerful  passion,  have,  on  observing 
how  differently  the  character  of  the  same  person  ap- 
pears when  influenced  by  the  one  or  the  other  of  them, 
given  rise  loan  idea  that  the  human  species  are  possess- 
ed of  two  souls  j  the  one  leading  to  vice,  and  the  other 
conducting  to  virtue.  A  celebrated  philosopher  has  il- 
lustrated this  notion  by  the  following  story : 

A  virtuous  young  prince,  of  an  heroic  soul,  capable 
of  love  and  friendship,  made  war  upon  a  tyrant,  who 
was  in  every  respect  his  reverse.  It  was  the  happiness 
of  our  prince  to  be  as  great  a  conqueror  by  his  clemen- 
cy and  bounty,  as  by  his  arms  and  military  virtue. 
Already  he  had  won  over  to  his  party  several  potentates 
and  princes,  who  had  before  been  subject  to  the  tyrant. 
Among  those  who  still  adhered  to  the  enemy  there  was 
a  prince,  who,  having  all  the  advantages  of  person  and 
merit,  had  lately  been  made  happy  in  the  possession  and 
mutual  love  of  the 'most  beautiful  princess  in  the  world. 
It  happened  that  the  occasion  of  the  war  called  the  new 
married  prince  to  a  distance  from  his  beloved  princess. 
He  left  her  secure  as  he  thought,  in  a  strong  castle,  far 
within  the  country  ;  but,  in  his  absence,  the  place  was 
taken  by  surprise,  and  the  princess  brought  a  captive  to 
the  quarters  of  the  heroic  prince.  There  was  in  the 
camp  a  young  nobleman  the  favorite  of  the  prince ;  one 
who  had  been  educated  with  him,  and  was  still  treated 
by  him  with  perfect  familiarity.  Him  he  immediately 
sent  for,  and  with  strict  injunctions,  committed  the 
captive  princess  to  his  charge  ;  resolving  she  should  be 
treated  with  that  respect  which  was  aue  to  her  rank 
and  merit.  It  was  the  same  young  lord  who  had  dis- 
covered her  disguised  among  the  prisoners,  and  learnt 
her  story  ;  the  particulars  of  which  he  now  related  to 
the  prince.  He  spoke  in  ecstacy  on  this  occasion ;  tell- 
ing the  prince  how  beautiful  she  appeared  even  in  the 
mrdst  of  sorrow ;  and  though  diseuised  under  the 
meanest  habit,  yet  how  distinguished  by  her  air  and 
manner  from  every  other  beauty  of  her  sex.  But  what 
appeared  strange  to  our  young  nobleman  was.  that  the 
prince,  during  this  whole  relation,  discovered  not  the 
least  intention  of  seeing  the  lady,  or  satisfying  that  cu- 
riosity which  seemed  so  natural  on  such  an  occasion. 
He  pressed  him,  but  without  success.  "  Not  see  her, 


ON  THE  PASSIONS.  253 

sir!"  said  lie  wondering,  "when  she  is  so  much  hand- 
somer than  any  woman  you  have  yet  seen !"  "  For 
that  very  reason,"  replied  the  prince,  "I  would  rather 
decline  the  interview  ;  for  should  J,  upon  this  bare  re- 
port of  her  beauty,  be  so  charmed  as  to  make  the  first 
visit  at  this  urgent  time  of  business,  I  may  upon  sight, 
with  better  reason,  be  induced,  perhaps,  to  visit  Tier 
when  I  am  more  at  leisure;  and  so  again  and  again, 
until  at  last  I  may  have  no  leisure  left  for  my  affairs." 
"  Would  you,  sir,  persuade  me  then,"  said  the  young 
nobleman,  smiling,  "that  a  fair  face  can  have  such. 
jx>wer  as  to  force  the  will  itself,  and  constrain  a  man 
in  any  respect  to  act  contrary  to  what  he  thinks  becom- 
ing him?  Are  we  to  hearken  to  the  poets,  in  what 
they  tell  us  of  that  incendiary  love  and  his  irresistible 
flames?  A  real  flame,  we  see,  burns  all  alike;  but 
that  imaginary  one  of  beauty  hurts  only  those  that  are 
consenting.  It  affects  no  otherwise  than  as  we  our- 
selves are  pleased  to  allow  it.  In  many  cases  we  ab- 
solutely command  it,  as  when  relation  and  consan- 
guinity are  in  the  nearest  degree.  Authority  and  law 
we  see  can  master  it ;  but  it  would  be  vain,  as  well  as 
unjust,  for  any  law  to  intermeddle  or  prescribe,  was 
not  the  case  voluntary,  and  our  will  entirely  free." 
"  How  comes  it  then,"  replied  the  prince,  "that  if  we 
are  thus  masters  of  our  choice,  and  free  at  first  to  ad- 
mire and  love  where  we  approve,  we  cannot  afterward 
as  well  cease  to  love  whenever  we  see  cause  ?  This  lat- 
ter liberty  you  will  hardly  defend  ;  for  I  doubt  not  you 
have  heard  of  many  who,  though  they  were  used  to  set 
the  highest  value  on  liberty  before  they  loved,  yet, 
afterward,  were  necessitated  to  serve  in  the  most  ab- 
iect  manner,  find  ing  themselves  constrained,  and  bound 
bv  a  stronger  chain  than  any  of  iron  or  of  adamant." 
"Such  wretches,"  replied  the  youth,  "I  have  often 
heard  complain,  who,  if  you  will  believe  them,  are 
wretched  indeed,  without  means  or  power  to  help 
themselves.  You  may  hear  them  in  the  same  manner 
complain  grievously  of  life  itself;  but  though  there  are 
doors  enough  at  which  to  go  out  of  life,  they  find  it 
convenient  to  keep  still  where  they  are.  They  are  the 
very  same  pretenders  who,  through  this  plea  of  irresis- 
tible necessity,  make  bold  with  what  is  another's,  and 
attempt  unlawful  beds ;  but  the  law,  I  perceive,  makes 
bold  with  them  in  its  turn,  as  with  other  invaders  of 
property.  Neither  is  it  your  custom,  sir,  to  pardon  such 
offences.  So  that  beauty  itself,  you  must  allow,  is  ia 
22 


254  INFLUENCE  OF  SOLITUDE 

nocent  and  harmless,  and  cannot  compel  any  one  to  do 
amiss.  The  debauched  compel  themselves,  and  uiijii.st- 
ly  charge  their  guilt  on  love.  They  who  are  honest 
and  just  can  admire  and  love  whatever  is  beautiful, 
without  offering  at  any  thing  beyond  what  is  allowed. 
How  then  is  it  possible,  sir,  that  one  of  your  virtue 
should  be  in  pain  on  any  such  account,  or  fear  such  a 
temptation  ?  You  see,  sir,  I  am  sound  and  whole  after 
having  beheld  the  princess.  I  have  conversed  with 
her;  I  have  admired  her  in  the  highest  degree;  yet  I 
am  myself  still,  and  in  my  duty,  and  shall  be  ever  in  the 
same  manner  at  your  command."  "  It  is  well,"  replied 
the  prince  ;  "  keep  yourself  so :  be  ever  the  same  man, 
and  look  to  your  fair  charge  carefully,  as  becomes  you ; 
for  it  may  so  happen,  in  the  present  situation  of  the 
war  that  this  beautiful  captive  may  stand  us  in  good 
stead."  The  young  nobleman  then  departed  toexecute 
his  commission  ;  and  immediately  took  such  care  of 
the  captive  princess  that  she  seemed  as  perfectly  obeyed, 
and  had  every  thing  which  belonged  to  her  in  as  great 
splendor  as  in  her  own  principaliTy,  and  in  the  heLht 
of  her  fortune.  He  found  her  in  every  respect  deserv- 
ing, and  saw  in  her  a  generosity  of  soul  exceeding 
even  her  other  charms.  His  studies  to  oblige  her  and 
to  soften  her  distress,  made  her,  in  return,  desirous  to  ex- 
press her  gratitude.  He  soon  discovered  the  feelings 
of  her  mind ;  for  she  showed,  on  every  occasion,  a  real 
concern  for  his  interest ;  and  when  he  happened  to  fall 
ill,  she  took  such  tender  care  of  him  herself,  and  by 
her  servants,  that  he  seemed  to  owe  his  recovery  en- 
tirely to  her  friendship.  From  these  beginnings,  insen- 
sibly, and  bv  natural  degrees,  as  may  easily  be  conceived, 
the  youth  fell  desperately  in  love.  At  first  he  offered 
not  to  make  the  least  mention  of  his  passion  to  the 
princess,  for  he  scarce  dared  believe  it  himself.  But 
time,  and  the  increasing  ardor  of  his  passion,  subdued 
his  fears,  and  she  received  his  declaration  with  an  un- 
affected trouble,  and  real  concern.  She  reasoned  with 
him  as  a  friend,  and  endeavored  to  persuade  him  to  sub- 
due so  improper  and  extravagant  a  flame.  But  in  a  short 
time  he  became  outrageous,  and  talked  to  her  of  farce. 
The  princess  was  alarmed  by  his  audacity,  and  imme- 
diately sent  to  the  prince  to  implore  his  protection. 
The  prince  received  the  information  with  the  appear- 
ance of  more  than  ordinary  attention ;  sent  instantly 
for  one  of  his  first  ministers,  and  directed  him  to  re- 
turn with  the  princess'  domestic,  and  tell  the  young  110- 


ON  THE  PASSIONS.  255 

bleman  that  force  was  not  to  be  used  to  such  a  lady  • 
but  that  he  might  use  persuasion,  if  he  thought  it  was 
proper  so  to  do.  The  minister,  who  was  of  course  the 
inveterate  enemy  of  his  prince's  favorite,  aggravated 
the  message,  inveighed  publicly  against  the  young  no- 
bleman for  the  grossness  of  his  misconduct,  and  even 
reproached  him  to  his  face  with  having  been  a  traitor 
to  the  confidence  of  his  prince,  and  a  disgrace  to  his 
nation.  The  minister,  in  short,  conveyed  the  message 
of  his  master  in  such  virulent  and  angry  terms,  that 
the  youth  looked  on  his  case  as  desperate ;  fell  into  the 
deepest  melancholy  ;  and  prepared  himself  for  that  fate 
which  he  was  conscious  he  well  deserved.  While  he 
was  thus  impressed  with  a  sense  of  his  misconduct, 
and  the  danger  to  which  it  had  exposed  him,  the  prince 
commanded  him  to  attend  a  private  audience.  The 
youth  entered  the  closet  of  the  prince  covered  with  the 
deepest  confusion.  "I  find,"  said  he,  "  that  I  am  now 
become  dreadful  to  you  indeed,  since  you  can  neither 
see  me  without  shame,  nor  imagine  me  to  be  without 
resentment.  But  away  with  all  these  thoughts  from 
this  time  forward !  I  know  how  much  you  have  suffer- 
ed on  this  occasion.  I  know  the  power  of  love ;  and 
am  no  otherwise  safe  myself,  than  by  keeping  out  of 
the  way  of  beauty.  I  alone  am  to  blame;  for  it  was  I 
who  unhappily  matched  you  with  that  unequal  adver- 
sary ;  who  gave  you  that  impracticable  task  ;  who  impo- 
sed on  you  that  hard  adventure,  which  no  one  yet  was 
ever  strong  enough  to  accomplish."  "  In  this,  sir,  as  in 
all  else,"  replied  the  youth,  "  you  express  that  goodness 
which  is  so  natural  to  you.  You  have  compassion, 
and  can  allow  for  human  frailties ;  but  the  rest  of  man- 
kind will  never  cease  to  upbraid  me :  nor  shall  I  ever  be 
forgiven,  even  were  I  able  ever  to  forgive  myself.  I  am 
reproached  by  my  nearest  friends ;  and  I  must  be  odi- 
ous to  all  mankind  wherever  I  am  known.  The  least 
punishment  I  can  think  due  to  me  is  banishment  for 
ever  from  your  presence;  for  I  am  no  longer  worthy 
of  being  called  your  friend."  "You  must  not  think  of 
banishing  yourself  for  ever,"  replied  the  prince:  "but 
trust  me,  if  you  will  retire  only  for  a  while,  I  shall  so 
order  matters,  that  you  shall  return  with  the  applause 
even  of  those  who  are  now  your  enemies,  when  they 
find  what  a  considerable  service  you  shall  have  render- 
ed both  to  them  and  me."  Such  a  hint  was  sufficient 
to  revive  the  spirits  of  the  despairing  youth.  He  was 
transported  to  think  that  his  misfortunes  could  be  turned 


256  INFLUENCE  OF  SOLtTCTS 

in  any  way  to  the  advantage  of  his  prince.  He  entered 
with  joy  into  the  scheme  his  royal  friend  had  contrived 
for  the  purpose  of  restoring  him  to  his  former  fame 
and  happiness,  and  appeared  eager  to  depart  and  exe- 
cute the  directions  that  were  given  to  him.  "  Can  you 
then,"  said  the  prince,  "  resolve  to  quit  the  charming 
princess?"  "O,  sir,"  replied  the  youth,  with  tears  in 
his  eyes,  "  I  am  now  well  satisfied  that  I  have  in  reality 
within  me  two  distinct  separate  souls.  This  lesson  of 
philosophy  I  have  learnt  from  that  villanous  sophister 
love;  for  it  is  impossible  to  believe  that,  having  one 
and  the  same  soul,  it  should  be  actually  both  good  and 
had ;  passionate  for  virtue  and  vice,  desirous  of  con- 
traries. No;  there  must  of  necessity  be  two  ;  and  when 
the  good  soul  prevails,  we  are  happy  ;  but  when  the  bad 
prevails,  we  are  miserable.  Such  was  my  case.  Lately 
the  ill  soul  was  wholly  master,  and  I  was  miserable ; 
but  no\y  the  good  prevails,  by  your  assistance,  and  1 
am  plainly  a  new  creature,  with  quite  another  appre- 
hension, another  reason,  and  another  will." 

He  who  would  be  master  of  his  appetites,  must  not 
only  avoid  temptation,  but  vigilantly  restrain  the  earli- 
est shoots  of  fancy,  and  destroy  the  first  blooms  of  a 
warm  imagination.  It  is  the  very  nature  of  confidence 
to  be  always  in  danger,  To  permit  the  mind  to  riot  in 
scenes  of  fancied  delights,  under  an  idea  that  reason 
will  be  able  to  extinguish  the  flames  of  desire,  is  to 
nurse  and  foster  the  sensual  appetites,  which,  when 
guided  by  the  cool  and  temperate  voice  of  nature  alone, 
are  seldom  raised  to  an  improper  height.  The  natural 
current  of  the  blood,  even  in  the  warmest  constitutions, 
and  under  the  most  torrid  zone,  would  keep  an  even, 
temperate  course,  were  it  not  accelerated  by  such  incen- 
tives. Youth  indeed  despises  this  species  of  reasoning, 
and  imputes  it  to  the  sickness  of  satiety,  or  the  coldness 
of  old  age.  I  have,  however,  in  general,  observed, 
that  those  who  seek  these  incitements  to  what  they  im- 
properly call  love,  possess  a  rayless  eye,  a  hollow  cheek, 
a  palsied  hand,  a  pallid  countenance ;  and  these  symp- 
toms of  faded  splendour  and  withered  strength,  un- 
questionably prove  that  they  have  not  consulted  nature 
in  their  gay  pursuits ;  for  nature  has  not  planted  any 
propensities  in  the  human  frame  which  lead  it  to  early 
ruin,  or  premature  decay.  The  blame  which  is  so  un- 
justly thrown  upon  temperament  and  constitution,  be- 
longs to  the  indulgence  of  false  and  clamorous  pas- 


ON  THE  PASSIONS.  257 

sions,  those  which  sensual  fancies,  and  lascivious  ideas 
have  raised  to  the  destruction  of  chastity  and  health. 

Monastic  institutions  produce,  in  this  respect,  incalcu- 
lable mischiefs.  The  sexes,  whom  these  religious  pri- 
sons seclude  from  the  free  and  unconfined  intercourses 
of  society,  suffer  their  imaginations  to  riot  without  re- 
straint or  discipline,  in  proportion  to  the  violence  im- 
posed on  their  actions.  A  thousand  boyish  fancies, 
eager  appetites  and  warm  desires,  are  perpetually  play- 
ing truant,  and  the  chastity  of  the  soul  is  corrupted^ 
To  effect  the  conquest  of  the  passion  of  love,  it  is  ab- 
solutely necessary  that  the  evil  suggestions  of  the  ima- 
gination should  be  first  silenced  ;  and  he  who  succeeds 
m  quelling  the  insurrections  of  that  turbulent  inmate, 
or  in  quieting  its  commotions,  achieves  an  enterprise  at 
once  difficult  and  glorious.  The  holy  Jerome  checked 
the  progress  of  many  disorderly  passions  which  he 
found  rising  in  his  breast ;  but  the  passion  of  love  re- 
sisted all  his  opposition,  and  followed  him,  with  in- 
creasing fury,  even  into  the  frightful  cavern  to  which 
he  retired  to  implore,  in  humble  prayer  and  solitary  ab- 
straction, the  mercies  of  his  God.  The  solitude,  how- 
ever remote,  to  which  the  demon  of  sensuality  is  ad- 
mitted, is  soon  crowded  with  legions  of  tormenting 
fiends.  John,  the  anchorite  of  the  deserts  of  Thebais, 
wisely  addressed  his  solitary  brethren,  "  If  there  be  any 
among  you  who  in  his  pride,  conceives  that  he  has  en- 
tirely renounced  the  devil  and  all  his  works,  he  should 
learn  that  it  is  not  sufficient  to  have  done  this  merely 
by  his  lips,  by  having  resigned  his  worldly  dignities, 
and  by  dividing  his  possessions  among  the  poor ;  for, 
unless  he  has  also  abandoned  his  sensual  appetites,  his 
salvation  cannot  be  secure.  It  is  only  by  purifying  our 
bosoms  from  the  pernicious  influence  of  this  master  pas- 
sion, that  we  can  ever  hope  to  counteract  the  machina- 
tions of  satan,  and  to  guard  our  hearts  from  his  dan- 
gerous practices.  Sin  always  introduces  itself  under 
the  guidance  of  some  guilty  passion ;  some  fond  de- 
sire ;  some  pleasing  inclination,  which  we  willingly  in- 
dulge, and  by  that  means  suffer  the  enemy  of  peace  to 
establish  his  unruly  dominion  in  our  souls.  Then  tran- 
quillity and  real  happiness  quit  their  abode  in  pur  hearts, 
and  ail  is  uproar  and  anarchy  within.  This  must  be 
the  fate  of  all  who  permit  an  evil  spirit  to  seat  itself  on 
the  throne  of  their  hearts,  and  to  scatter  around  the 
poisonous  seeds  of  wild  desire  and  vicious  inclinations." 
But  love  once  indulged  in  bright  and  rapturous  fancies, 
22* 


258  INFLUENCE  OF  SOLITUDE 

fills  the  mind  with  such  high  and  transporting  ideas  of 
supreme  .bliss,  that  the  powers  of  reason  are  seldx>m,  if 
ever,  capable  of  making  head  against  its  fascinations. 
The  hermit  and  the  monk,  who,  from  the  nature  of 
their  situations,  cannot  taste  its  real  charms,  oiight,  if 
it  were  for  that  reason  alone,  to  stifle  at  their  birth  the 
earliest  emotions  of  this  inspiring  passion  ;  for  the  in- 
dulgence of  it  must  prove  fatal  to  the  virtue,  and  of 
course  destructive  to  the  peace  of  every  recluse.  The 
impossibility  that  such  characters  can  listen  with  any 
propriety  to  the  dictates  of  this  delightful  passion,  shows 
in  the  strongest  manner  the  impolicy  and  absurdity  of 
those  institutions,  on  the  members  of  \yhich  celibacy  is 
enjoined.  The  happiness  of  every  individual,  as  well 
as  the  civil  and  religious  interests  of  society,  are  best 
promoted  by  inducing  the  endearments  of  sense  to  im- 
prove the  sympathies,  tenderness,  and  affections  of  the 
human  heart.  But  these  blessings  are  denied  to  the 
solitary  fanatic,  who  is  condemned  to  endure  the  sup- 
pression of  his  passions,  and  prevented  from  indulging 
without  endangering  his  principle?,  both  the  desires  of 
sense,  and  the  dreams  of  fancy.  He  cannot  form  that 
delightful  union  of  the  sexes,  where  sentiments  of  ad- 
miration are  increased  by  prospects  of  personal  advan- 
tage ;  where  private  enjoyment  arises  from  a  sense  of 
mutual  merit ;  and  the  warmest  beams  of  love  are 
tempered  by  the  refreshing  gales  of  friendship.  The 
grosser  parts  of  this  innate  and  glowing  passion  ran 
alone  occupy  his  fancy;  and  the  sentiments  it  instils, 
instead  of  refining  his  desires,  and  meliorating  his  af- 
fections, tend,  through  the  operation  of  his  soul  and  cor- 
rupted imagination,  to  render  his  appetites  still  more 
depraved.  He  is  as  ignorant  of  its  benefits  as  he  is  of 
its  chaste  and  dignified  pleasures;  and  totally  unac- 
quainted with  its  fine  sensibilities,  and  varied  emotions, 
his  bosom  burns  with  the  most  violent  rage  ;  his  mind 
wallows  in  images  of  sensuality ;  and  his  temper  fn  ts 
itself,  by  unjustlv  accusing  the  tempter  as  the  author 
of  his  misery.  If  the  luxurious  cogitations  of  such  a 
character  were  dissipated  by  the  pleasures  and  pursuits 
of  busy  life;  if  the  violence  of  his  passions  were  check- 
ed by  laborious  exercises;  and  if  habits  of  rational 
study  enabled  him  to  van-  the  uniformity  of  retire- 
ment, and  to  substitute  the  excursions  of  mental  cu- 
riosity, and  moral  reflections,  instead  of  that  perpetual 
recurrence  of  animal  desire  by  which  he  is  infected, 
the  danger  we  have  described  would  certainly  be  re- 


ON  THE  PASSIONS.  259 

duced ;  but  \vithout  such  aids,  his  self-denials,  his 
penitence,  his  prayers,  and  all  the  austere  disci- 
pline of  the  monkish  and  ascetic  school,  will  be  inef- 
fectual. Celibacy,  indeed,  instead  of  assisting,  as  their 
disciples  mistakingly  conceive,  to  clear  the  soul  from 
its  earthly  impurities,  and  to  raise  it  to  divine  bright- 
ness and  sublimity,  drags  it  down  to  the  basest  appe- 
tites and  lowest  desires.  But  matrimony,  or  that  suiia- 
able  and  appropriate  union  of  the  sexes  which  prevails 
under  different  circumstances,  according  to  the  manner 
and  custom  of  different  societies,  leads,  when  properly 
formed,  to  the  highest  goal  of  human  bliss. 

The  mischievous  effects  which  the  celibacy  and  soli- 
tude of  monastic  instilutions  produce  on  that  passion 
which  arises  so  spontaneously  between  the  sexes  in  the 
human  heart,  will  appear  unavoidable,  when  it  is  con- 
sidered how  absurdly  the  founders  of  these  religious 
retreats  have  frequently  endeavored  to  guard  against 
the  danger.  The  partitions  which  divide  virtues  from 
their  opposite  vices  are  so  slender  and  conjoined,  that 
we  scarcely  reach  the  limits  of  the  one  before  we  enter 
to  a  certain  degree,  the  confines  of  the  other.  How  ri- 
diculous, therefore,  is  it  to  conceive,  that  frequent  me- 
ditation on  forbidden  pleasures,  should  be  at  all  likely 
to  eradicate  impure  ideas  from  the  mind.  And  yet 
the  Egyptian  monastics  were  enjoined  to  have 
these  rules  constantly  in  their  contemplation :  first, 
that  their  bosoms  must  remain  unagitated  by  the 
thoughts  of  love ;  that  they  should  never  permit  their 
fancies  to  loiter  on  voluptuous  images ;  that  female 
beauty,  in  its  fairest  form,  and  most  glowing  charms, 
should  be  incapable  of  exciting  in  their  hearts  the  least 
sensation :  and  that,  even  during  the  hours  of  sleep, 
their  minds  should  continue  untainted  by  such  impure 
affections.  The  chastity  of  these  solitary  beings  was, 
on  some  occasions,  actually  tried  by  experiment ;  but 
the  consequences  which  resulted  from  such  irrational  dis- 
cipline, were  directly  the  reverse  of  those  it  was  intended 
io  produce.  The  imagination  was  vitiated,  and  the  in- 
clination rendered  so  corrupt,  that  neither  the  examples 
nor  the  precepts  of  the  more  enlightened  ages  were 
able  to  correct  their  manners,  or  reclaim  them  from 
the  machinations  of  the  unclean  spirit.  Number- 
less indeed,  and  horrid,  are  the  instances  recorded  by 
Ruffinus,  and  other  writers,  of  the  perversions  of  all 
sense  and  reason,  of  all  delicacy  and  refinement,  of  all 
virtue  and  true  holiness,  which  prevailed  in  the  ascetic 


260  INFLUENCE  OF  SOLITUDE 

solitudes  of  every  description,  while  the  nuptial  state 
was  held  incompatible  with  the  duties  of  religion,  and 
the  sexes  separated  from  each  other,  that  they  might 
more  piously,  and  with  less  interruption,  follow  its  dic- 
tates. Some  of  the  fathers  of  the  church  denned  fe- 
male celibacy  to  be  the  only  means  of  living  a  chaste 
and  godly  life  amidst  the  impurities  of  a  sinful  world, 
and  regaining,  during  the  perdition  of  gross  mortality, 
the  resemblance  of  the  soul's  celestial  origin.  The 
holy,  happy  tie  of  matrimony  they  considered  as  a  cloak 
to  the  indulgence  of  impure  desires,  and  launched  their 
anathemas  against  it  as  an  hateful  institution.  Even 
the  eloquent  and  pious  Chrysostom  says,  "that  a  double 
purpose  was  intended  to  be  attained  by  the  institution 
of  marriage,  viz.  the  propagation  of  the  species,  and 
the  gratification  of  sexual  affection  ;  but  that,  as  popula- 
tion had  sufficiently  covered  the  face  of  the  earth,  the 
first  had  become  no  longer  necessary  ;  and  that  it  was 
the  duty  of  the  sexes  rather  to  conquer  their  affections 
by  abstinence  and  prayer,  than  indulge  them  under  so 
thin  a  disguise."  The  human  soul,  he  admits,  must, 
in  a  state  of  celibacy,  subsist  under  a  perpetual  warfare 
and  the  faculties  be  in  continual  ferment ;  but  contends, 
that  piety  exists  in  proportion  to  the  difficulties  which 
the  sufferer  surmounts.  The  holy  fathers  seem,  from 
the  whole  strain  of  their  exhortations  and  reasonings,  to 
have  considered  female  chastity  in  a  very  serious  point 
of  view;  and  there  can  be  no  doubt  but  that  it  is  the 
brightest  jewel  and  most  becoming  ornament  of  the 
sex ;  but  these  reverend  teachers  were  so  blinded  by 
their  zeal,  that  they  lost  all  sight  of  nature,  and  mis- 
takingly  conceived  that  the  Great  Creator  had  planted 
affections  in  our  hearts,  and  oassions  in  our  breasts, 
only  to  try  our  tempers  in  suppressing  their  turbulence, 
rather  than  promote  our  happiness,  and  to  answer  the 
ends  of  his  creation,  by  a  sober  and  rational  indulgence 
of  them. 

But  nature  will  not  be  argued  out  of  her  rights;  and 
these  absurd  doctrines  introduced  into  every  monastic 
institution  throughout  Europe  a  private  intercourse,  hos- 
tile, from  its  evil  example  to  the  interests  both  of  mo- 
rality and  religion.  The  nims  of  the  convent  of 
Argenteuil,  \yho  chose  Eloisa  for  their  Abbess,  were 
in  all  probability,  influenced  in  their  choice  by  the  re- 
collections of  her  former  frailty,  and  their  knowledge 
of  the  present  ruling  passion  other  heart;  they  meant 
to  provide  the  abbey  with  a  superior  who,  if  she  were 


ON  THE  PASSIONS.  261 

hot  inclined  to  promote,  would  feel  no  disposition  to 
interrupt  their  intrigues.  The  fact  certainly  was,  that 
during  the  time  Eloisa  presided  over  the  convent,  the 
conduct  of  the  nuns  was  so  extremely  licentious,  that 
Sugger,  abbot  of  St.  Dennis,  complained  of  their  irre 
gularities  to  Pope  Honorious,  in  such  a  manner  as  to 
induce  his  holiness  to  give  the  abbot  possession  of  it: 
and  he  immediately  expelled  the  negligent  prioress  and 
her  intriguing  sisters,  and  established  in  their  place  a 
monastery  of  his  own  order.  Strong  suspicions  may, 
perhaps,  prevail  against  the  virtue  and  integrity  of 
Elqisa's  character,  from  the  dissoluteness  which  exist- 
ed in  this  society  ;  but  she  was  certainly  not  included 
by  name  in  the  articles  of  accusation  which  the  abbot 
of  St.  Dennis  transmitted  upon  this  subject  to  the  court 
of  Rome ;  and  there  is  every  reason  to  believe  that 
these  irregularities  were  carefully  concealed  from  her 
knowledge.  When  this  lovely  victim  was  presented 
with  the  veil,  some  persons  who  pitied  her  youth,  and 
admired  her  beauty,  represented  to  her  the  cruel  sacri- 
fice she  would  make  of  herself  by  accepting  it :  but  she 
immediately  exclaimed,  in  the  words  of  Cornelia,  after 
the  death  of  Pompey  the  great — 

"  Oh  my  loved  lord  !  our  fatal  marriage  draws 
On  thee  this  doom,  and  I  the  guilty  cause  : 
Then  while  thou  go'sl  th>  extremes  of  fate  to  prove, 
I'll  share  that  lute,  and  expiate  thus  my  love  !" 

and  accepted  the  fatal  present  with  a  constancy  not  to 
have  been  expected  in  a  woman  who  had  so  high  a 
taste  for  pleasures  which  she  might  still  enjoy.  It  will 
therefore,  be  easily  conceived,  that  her  distress,  on  be- 
ing ignominiously  expelled  from  this  retreat,  was  ex- 
ceedingly severe.  She  applied  to  Abelard  to  procure  her 
some  permanent  asylum,  where  she  might  have  the  op- 
portunity of  estranging  herself  from  all  earthly  weak- 
nesses and  passions  ;  and  he,  by  the  permission  of  the 
bishop  of  Troyes,  resigned  to  her  the  house  and  the 
chapel  of  Paraclete,  with  its  appendages,  where  she  set- 
tled with  a  few  sisters,  and  became  herself  the  foundress 
of  a  nunnery.  Of  this  monastery  she  continued  the 
superior  until  she  died  ;  and  whatever  her  conduct  was 
among  the  licentious  nuns  of  Argenteuil,  she  lived  so 
regular  in  this  her  new  and  last  retreat,  and  conducted 
herself  with  such  exemplary  prudence,  zeal,  and  piety, 
that  all  her  former  failings  were  forgot,  her  character 


262  INFLUENCE   OP   SOLITUDE 

adored  by  all  who  knew  her,  and  her  monastery  in  a 
short  time  enriched  with  so  great  a  variety  of  dona- 
tions, that  she  was  celebrated  as  the  ablest  cultivator  of 
the  virtues  of  forgiveness  and  christain  charity  then 
existing.  The  bishop  of  the  district  behaved  to  her  as 
if  she  had  been  his  own  daughter ;  the  neighboring 
priors  and  abbots  treated  her  with  all  the  tenderness 
and  attention  of  a  real  sister:  and  those  who  were  dis- 
tressed and  poor,  revered  her  as  their  mother.  But  all 
her  cares,  and  all  her  virtues,  could  not  protect  her 
against  the  returning  weakness  of  her  heart.  "Soli- 
tude," says  she,  "is  insupportable  to  a  mind  that  is  ill 
at  ease ;  its  troubles  increase  in  the  midst  of  silence, 
and  retirement  heightens  them.  Since  I  have  been 
shut  up  within  these  walls,  I  have  done  nothing  but 
weep  for  our  misfortunes:  this  cloister  has  resounded 
with  my  cries,  and  like  a  wretch  condemned  to  eternal 
slavery,  I  have  worn  out  my  days  in  grief  and  sighing." 
The  useful  regulations  imposed  by  the  wisdom  of 
St.  Benedict  upon  the  votaries  of  monastic  retirement, 
were  soon  neglected.  Abstinence  and  prayer  were  suc- 
ceeded by  luxury  and  impiety.  The  revenues  of  the 
several  orders  had,  by  the  increased  value  of  property, 
become  so  great,  that  they  were  expended  in  purchasing 
a  remission  of  those  duties  which  their  founders  had  en- 
joined. The  admission  of  the  poor  laity  relieved  the  ini- 
tiated members  from  the  toil  of  cultivating  the  demesne 
lands,  and  produced  a  system  of  indolence  and  laziness. 
They  exchanged  their  long  fastand  unsavory  diet,  for  fre- 
quent feasts,  and  the  richest  repasts ;  substituted  indolent 
pride  for  laborious  humility ;  and  lost  entirely  their  ori- 
ginal piety  and  virtue.  Abelard,  indeed,  and  some  few 
other  abbots  of  the  tenth  century,  endeavored  to  re- 
store the  ancient  discipline,  but  they  were  reviled  and 
persecuted  with  the  most  vindictive  malice  by  their 
contemporaries.  The  duke  of  Brittany,  in  order 
to  secure  Abelard  from  the  rage  with  which  he  was 
pursued,  for  exercising  qualities  which  ought  to  have 
procured  him  admiration  and  esteem,  gave  him  the 
convent  of  St.  Gildas,  as  an  asylum  from  their  hatred. 
The  high  character  which  this  monastery  compara- 
tively enjoyed  for  regularity  and  good  order,  excited  a 
hope  that  he  might  there  find  rest  from  his  vexation?, 
and  consolation  for  his  griefs.  But  instead  of  finding 
it  the  seat  of  wisdom  and  piety,  and  the  mansion  of 
tranquillity,  he  discovered  the  most  dissolute  manners 
and  abandoned  conduct  prevailing  in  every  part  of  the 


ON  THE  PASSIONS.  263 

r-':iv  >:it.  His  mild  and  rational  attempts  to  reclaim 
fiesj  disorderly  brethren,  were  so  far  from  producing 
tha  desired  effect  upon  their  minds,  that  it  only  pro- 
voked their  rage,  and  gave  new  edge  to  their  malice. 
Foiled  in  their  endeavors,  by  conspiracy  and  calumny, 
to  dispossess  him  of  his  situation,  they  attempted,  seve- 
ral times  at  their  common  repasts,  to  infuse  poison  into 
his  victuals :  and  at  length,  dreadful  to  relate !  actually 
administered,  in  the  sacramental  cup,  the  poisoned 
chalice  to  his  lips,  but  which  he  was  miraculously  pre- 
vented from  tasting.  It  is,  indeed,  impossible  to  read 
the  description  he  nas  given  of  his  dreadful  situation 
in  this  wild  and  savage  community,  without  shuddering 
at  the  idea  how  much  an  irrational  solitude  tends  to 
corrupt  the  manners  and  deprave  the  heart.  "  I  live," 
says  he,  in  his  letter  to  Philintus,  "  in  a  barbarous  coun- 
try, the  language  of  which  I  do  not  understand.  I 
have  no  conversation  but  with  the  rudest  people.  My 
walks  are  on  the  inaccessible  shore  of  a  sea  which  is 
perpetually  stormy.  My  monks  are  only  known  by 
their  dissoluteness,  and  living  without  any  rule  or 
order.  Ah  !  Philintus,  were  you  to  see  my  habitation, 
vou  would  rather  think  it  a  slaughter  house  than  a 
convent.  The  doors  and  walks  are  without  any  or- 
nament except  the  heads  of  wild  boars,  the  antlers  of 
stags,  the  feet  of  foxes  and  the  hides  of  other  animals, 
which  are  nailed  up  against  them.  The  cells  are  hung 
with  the  skins  of  victims  destroyed  in  the  chase.  The 
monks  have  not  so  much  as  a  bell  to  wake  them,  and 
are  only  roused  from  their  drowsiness  by  the  howling 
of  dogs  and  the  croaking  of  ravens.  Nothing  disturbs 
their  laziness  or  languortmt  the  rude  noises  of  hunting: 
and  their  only  alternatives  are  riot  and  rest.  But  I 
should  return  my  thanks  to  heaven  if  that  were  thejr 
only  fault.  I  endeavor  in  vain  to  recall  them  to  their 
duty  :  they  all  combine  against  me :  and  I  only  expose 
myself  to  continual  vexations  and  dangers.  I  imagine 
I  see  every  moment  a  naked  sword  hanging  over  my 
head.  Sometimes  they  surround  me,  and  load  me  with 
the  vilest  abuse ;  and  eve%  when  they  abandon  me,  I 
am  still  left  to  my  own  dreadful  tormenting  thoughts." 
This  single  example  would  be  sufficient  to  prove  the 
extraordinary  dominion  which  solitude  has  over  the 
human  mind.  It  is,  indeed,  unless  it  be  managed 
with  great  good  sense,  the  complete  nursery  of  mis- 
chief. The  mind  is  without  those  numerous  incentives 
to  action  which  are  continually  occurring  in  the  busy 


264  INFLUENCE   OF  SOLITUDE 

world;  and  nothing  can  contribute  to  produce  irregu- 
lar and  disorderly  passions  more  than  the  want  of  some 
pursuit  by  which  the  heart  is  interested  and  the  mind 
employed.  The  minds  of  idle  persons  are  always  rest- 
less ;  their  hearts  never  at  perfect  ease ;  their  spirits 
continually  on  the  fret ;  and  their  passions  goaded  to 
the  most  unwarrantable  excess. 

Idleness,  even  in  social  life,  inflicts  the  severest  tor- 
ments on  the  soul ;  destroys  the  repose  of  individuals ; 
and,  when  general,  frequently  endangers  the  safe- 
ty of  the  state.  Timotheus,  an  Egyptian  monk,  sur- 
named  the  Cat,  a  short  time  after  the  Eutychian  Con- 
troversy, in  the  year  457,  felt  an  ambition  to  fill  the 
episcopal  and  patriarchal  chair.  Tbe  splenetic  restless- 
ness which  prevailed  among  the  monks  in  their  several 
monastic  solitudes,  seemed  to  present  to  his  observing 
eye  proper  instruments  for  the  execution  of  his  scheme. 
He  was  conscious,  from  his  profound  knowledge  of  the 
human  character,  that  if  men  who  had  so  long  remain- 
ed in  uneasy  and  dissatisfied  indolence,  could  be  pro- 
voked to  activity,  their  zeal  would  be  as  turbulent  as 
their  former  life  had  been  lazy  and  supine:  and  that 
their  dispositions  might  be  easily  turned  to  the  accom- 
plishment of  his  wishes.  The  better  to  effect  his  pur- 
pose, he  clothed  himself  in  a  white  garment,  crept  si- 
lently in  the  dead  of  night  to  the  cells  of  his  com- 
panions, and,  through  a  tube,  which  concealed  his  voice 
while  it  magnified  the  sound  of  it,  hailed  every  monk 
by  his  name.  The  sound  seemed  to  convey  the  voice 
of  heaven  to  the  superstitious  ears  of  the  awakened 
auditors ;  and  the  sagacious  and  enterprising  trumpeter 
did  not  fail  to  announce  himself  as  an  ambassador  of 
heaven,  sent  in  the  name  of  the  Almighty  to  command 
the  monks  to  assemble  immediately,  to  consult  on  the 
most  likely  mode  of  deposing  the  Nestorian  heretic 
Proterus,  and  of  raising  the  favored  and  orthodox  Ti- 
motheus to  the  episcopal  throne.  The  idea  of  being^ 
thus  elected  to  execute  this  pious  rebellion,  roused  all 
the  sleeping  powers  of  these  solitary  and  hitherto  idle 
fanatics  ;  they  rose  tumult<Knisly  at  the  sacred  signal ; 
proclaimed  him  as  a  heaven  elected  patriarch  ;  solicited 
him  with  friendly  violence,  not  to  refuse  the  promised 
boon  ;  and  burning  with  all  the  ardor  of  expected  suc- 
cess, marched,  in  a  few  days  under  the  banner  of  the 
imposter,  to  Alexandria,  where  they  inspired  the  mem- 
bers of  other  monasteries  with  then  own  delusion,  and 
created  throughout  Egypt  the  wildest  and  most  tre- 


OX  THE  PASSIONS.  265 

mendous  commotions.  The  populace  caught  the  reli- 
gious frenzy,  and  joined  in  vast  numbers  the  monastic 
rout.  Assisted  by  this  desperate  rabble,  Tiinotheus 
proceeded  to  the  principal  church  of  Alexandria,  where 
he  was.  by  a  preconcerted  arrangement,  pompously  re- 
ceived by  two  deposed  bishops,  and  ordainea  the  me- 
tropolitan of  the  whole  Egyptian  territory.  Proterus 
was  astonished  at  this  sudden  irruption,  and  hurled  his 
anathemas  with  great  art  and  dexterity  against  the  im- 
pious audacity  of  the  obscure  monastic  who  had  thug 
dared  to  depart  from  the  humility  of  his  station,  and  to 
invade  with  his  indolent  brethren,  the  rights  of  sove- 
reignty ;  but  being  well  aware  of  the  fury  with  which 
this  description  of  men  generally  act  when  they  are 
once  set  in  motion,  and  being  informed  of  the  vast 
multitude  by  which  they  had  been  joined,  he 
thought  it  prudent  to  quit  his  palace,  and  to  re- 
tire to  the  sacred  shelter  of  the  church  of  St.  Quiri- 
nus.  Heathens  and  barbarians  had  heretofore  respect- 
ed this  venerable  sanctuary  ;  but,  upon  the  present  oc- 
casion, it  was  incapable  of  giving  safety  to  its  aged  re- 
fugee. The  furious  troops  of  the  holy  imposter  burst 
with  irresistible  violence  through  the  walls  of  this 
consecrated  edifice,  and  with  their  daggers  drank  the 
blood  of  the  innocent  pontiff,  even  upon"  that  altar,  the 
very  sight  of  which  ought  to  have  paralyzed  the  hand 
of  guilt.  His  surrounding  and  numerous  friends,  par- 
ticularly six  ecclesiastics  of  great  eminence,  learning, 
and  piety,  shared  the  fate  of  their  unhappy  master,  and 
were  found,  when  the  dreadful  massacre  was  over 
clinging  with  fondness,  in  the  arms  of  death,  round  his 
rnanirled  body.  But  it  was  necessary  for  the  murderers 
to  calumniate  the  purity  of  that  life  which  they  had 
thus  violently  and  injuriously  destroyed.  They  accord- 
ingly dragged  the  corpse  of  this  virtuous  patriarch  to 
the  most  public  part  of  the  city,  and,  after  the  grossest 
abuse  of  his  character,  and  most  scandalous  misrepre- 
sentation of  his  conduct,  hung  it  on  an  elevated  cross, 
and  exposed  it  to  the  brutal  insults  of  the  misguided 
and  deluded  populace.  To  complete  this  unmanly  out- 
rage, they  at  length  committed  the  torn  and  mangled 
remains  of  this  excellent  prelate  to  the  flames,  and 
hurled  his  ashes,  amidst  the  most  opprobrious  and  in- 
sulting epithets,  into  the  darkened  air;  exclaiming 
with  horrid  imprecations,  that  the  mortal  part  of  such 
a  wretch  was  not  entitled  to  the  right  of  sepulchre, 
or  even  the  tears  of  friends.  So  furious  and  undaunt- 
23 


266  INFLUENCE    OF"  SOLITUDE 

ed,  indeed,  were  all  the  oriental  monks,  when  onc« 
roused  from  their  monastic  lethargy,  that  even  the  sol- 
diers of  the  Greek  emperors  cautiously  avoided  meeting 
them  in  the  field.  The  fury  by  which  they  were  ac- 
tuated was  so  blind,  that  the  pious  Chrysostom,  the 
warmest  and  most  zealous  advocate  for  monastic  in- 
stitutions, trembled  at  his  approach.  This  celebrated 
father  of  the  church  was  born  in  the  year  344,  of  one 
of  the  first  families  of  the  city  of  Antioch,  and  added 
new  lustre  to  their  fame  by  his  virtues  and  his  eloquence. 
Having  finished  his  studies  with  wonderful  success, 
under  Libanus,  the  greatest  rhetorician  of  the  age,  he 
devoted  himself  to  the  study  of  the  law  ;  but  religion 
having  planted  itself  deeply  in  his  mind,  he  quitted  all 
secular  concerns,  and  retired  into  solitude  among  the 
mountains  in  the  vicinity  of  the  city,  where,  in  the 
dreary  caves,  he  devoted  two  entire  years  to  penitence 
and  prayer.  Ill  health,  however,  obliged  him  to  return 
to  Antioch ;  he  began  to  preach  the  Word,  and  was 
soon  followed  by  a  host  of  disciples.  The  life  of  this 
excellent  pastor  was  an  example  to  his  whole  flock. 
He  endeavored  to  drive  away  the  wolves  from  the  folds, 
and  sent  missionaries  even  into  Scythia,  to  convert  its 
inhabitants  to  Christianity.  These  missions,  and  his 
various  charities,  required  either  considerable  revenues 
or  the  most  rigid  economy ;  and  the  holy  patriarch  was 
contented  to  live  in  the  extremes!  poverty,  that  he 
might  have  the  better  opportunity  of  relieving  the  suf- 
ferings of  .his  fellow  creatures.  The  character  and 
conduct  of  this  virtuous  pontiff  soon  gained  him  the 
heartsof  his  people,  and  he  set  himself  earnestly  to  reform 
the  many  abuses  which  at  this  time  prevailed  at  Con- 
stantinople. The  severity  and  vehemence,  however, 
with  which  he  declaimed  against  the  pride,  the  luxury, 
and  the  rapacity  of  the  great ;  the  zeal  with  which  he 
endeavored  to  reform  the  vices  and  misconduct  of  the 
clergy ;  and  the  eagerness  he  discovered  for  the  con- 
version of  heretics,  created  him  a  multitude  of  enemies; 
and  Eutropius,  the  favorite  of  the  Emperor  Arcadius; 
Gainas,  the  tyrant  to  whom  he  had  refused  protection 
for  the  Arians;  Theophilus,  of  Alexandria,  the  patron 
of  the  Origenists;  and  the  disciples  of  Arius,  whom  he 
banished  from  Constantinople,  entered  into  a  conspiracy 
against  him ;  and  an  occasion  soon  happened,  which  gave 
them  the  opportunity  of  taking  ample  vengeance.  Tb6 
intrepid  preacher,  convinced  ^that  while  he  declaimed 
against  vice  in  general,  the  peculiar  vices  which  pre 


ON  THE  PASSIONS.  267 

vailed  in  the  court  of  the  Empress  Eudoxia,  and  the 
personal  misconduct  of  the  Empress  herself,  called 
aloud  for  his  severest  animadversions,  he  took  every 
opportunity  of  exposing  them  to  the  public  abhorrence. 
1  he  resentment  of  the  court  encouraged  the  discontent 
of  the  clergy  and  monks  of  Constantinople,  who  had 
been  very  severely  disciplined  by  the  zeal  ot  the  arch- 
bishop. He  had  condemned  from  the  pulpit  the  domes- 
tic females  of  the  clergy  of  Constantinople,  who,  under 
the  name  of  servants  or  sisters,  afforded  a  perpetual 
occasion  either  of  sin  or  scandal.  The  silent  and  soli- 
tary ascetics,  who  had  secluded  themselves  from  the 
world,  were  entitled  to  the  warmest  appprobation  of 
Chrysostom :  but  he  despised  and  stigmatized,  as  the 
disgrace  of  their  holy  profession,  the  crowd  of  degene- 
rate monks,  who  from  some  unworthy  motives  of  plea- 
sure or  profit,so  frequently  infested  the  streets  of  the 
metropolis.  To  the  voice  of  persuasion,  the  archbishop 
was  obliged  to  add  the  lesson  of  authority  :  and  in  his 
visitation  through  the  Asiatic  provinces,  he  deposed 
thirteen  bishops  of  Lydia  and  Phrygia;  and  declared 
that  a  deep  corruption  of  simony  and  licentiousness 
had  infected  the  whole  episcopal  order.  These  bishops 
also  entered  into  the  confederacy  above  mentioned, 
and  the  excellent  Chrysostom  was  studiously  repre- 
sented as  the  intolerable  tyrant  of  the  eastern  church. 
This  ecclesiastical  conspiracy  was  managed  by  the 
archbishop  of  Alexandria,  who,  by  the  invitation  of 
Eudoxia,  landed  at  Constantinople  with  a  stout  body  of 
Egyptian  mariners,  to  encounter  the  populace,  and  a 
train  of  dependant  bishops,  to  secure,  by  their  voices,  a 
majority  of  a  synod.  The  synod  was  convened  in  the 
suburbs  of  Chalcedon,  and  was  called  the  Oak;  in 
which  Chrysostom,  was  accused  of  treason  against  the 
empress;  rudely  arrested,  and  driven  into  exile:  from 
whence,  however,  he  was  in  two  days  recalled ;  but, 
upon  a  repetition  of  his  imputed  offences,  was  again 
banished  to  the  remote  and  desolate  town  of  Cucusus 
among  the  ridges  of  mount  Taurus,  in  the  Lesser  Ar- 
menia. On  his  way  to  this  place,  he  was  detained  by 
sickness  at  Cesarea,  and  at  length  confined  to  his  bed. 
The  bishop  of  Cesarea,  who  had  long  entertained  a 
secret  enmity  against  him.  unmoved  by  his  fallen  for- 
tunes and  helpless  state,  stirred  up  the  lazy  monks  of 
the  surrounding  monasteries  to  vengeance  against  him. 
The  fury  with  which  they  issued  from  their  respective 
cells  was  incredible ;  like  the  sleeping  powder  of  the 


268  INFLUENCE  OP  SOLITUDE 

present  age,  they  burst  into  immediate  conflagration 
and  explosion  at  the  touch  of  that  hand  by  which  they 
were  fired,  and  directing  their  heated  animosity  against 
the  dying  Chrysostom,  surrounded  his  house  and 
threatened,  that  if  he  did  not  immediately  depart,  they 
would  involve  it  in  flames,  and  bury  him  in  its  ruins. 
The  soldiers  of  the  garrison  were  called  out  to  protect 
the  life  of  this  virtuous  ecclesiastic ;  and,  on  their  arri- 
val at  the  scene  of  action,  very  courteously  requested 
the  enraged  monks  to  be  quiet  and  depart ;  but  the  re- 
quest was  treated  with  contempt  and  defiance:  and  it 
was  by  the  humane  resolution  of  Chrysostom  himself 
that  this  tumult  was  quelled;  for,  rather  than  the  blood 
of  his  fellow  creatures  should  be  shed  on  his  account, 
he  desired  a  litter  might  be  procured,  into  which,  in 
his  almost  expiring  state,  he  was  roughly  laid,  and,  by 
his  departure  from  the  city,  escaped  tlie  iury  w  Inch  thus 
assailed  his  life.  It  is  evident,  from  these  facts,  that  the 
irrational  solitude  of  monastic  institutions,  particularly 
that  which  prevailed  in  the  early  ages  of  Christianity 
in  the  eastern  parts  of  the  converted  world,  instead  of 
rendering  the  votaries  of  it  mild,  complacent  and  hu- 
mane, filled  their  minds  with  the  wildest  notions,  and 
the  most  uncharitable  and  acrimonious  passions,  and 
fostered  in  their  hearts  the  most  dangerous  and  de- 
structive vices.  It  is  truly  said,  by  a  very  elegant  writer 
and  profound  observer  of  men  and  manners,  that 
monastic  institutions  unavoidably  contract  and  fetter 
the  human  mind  ;  that  the  partial  attachment  of  a  monk 
to  the  interest  of  his  order,  which  is  often  incompatible 
with  that  of  other  citizens,  the  habit  of  implicit  obedi- 
ence to  the  will  of  a  superior,  together  with  the  fre- 
quent return  of  the  wearisome  and  frivolous  duties  of 
the  cloister,  debase  his  faculties,  and  extinguish  that 
generosity  of  sentiment  and  spirit  which  qualifies  men 
for  thinking  and  feeling  justly,  with  respect  to  what  is 
proper  in  life  and  conduct;  and  that  father  Paul  of 
Venice  was,  perhaps,  the  only  person  educated  in  a 
cloister,  that  ever  was  altogether  superior  to  its  preju- 
dices, or  who  viewed  the  transactions  of  men,  and  rea- 
soned concerning  the  interests  of  society,  with  the  en- 
larged sentiments  of  a  philosopher,  with  the  discernment 
of  a  man  conversant  in  affairs,  and  with  the  liberality 
of  a  gentleman.  Depraved,  however,  as  this  order  of 
men  nas  ever  been,  it  was  to  their  prayers  and  masses 
that  all  the  princes  and  potentates  of  more  than  half 
the  discovered  regions  of  the  earth  confided  their  salva- 


ON  THE  PASSIONS.  269 

tirv.i,  and  expected  from  their  intercession,  divine  favor 
from  the  fountain  of  all  goodness  and  truth.  But  the 
fears  which  these  artful  and  intriguing  ecclesiastics 
raised  in  the  weak  or  guilty  minds  of  their  contempo- 
raries, instead  of  being  quieted  by  the  conciliatory  and 
comforting  doctrines  of  the  gospel  of  Christ,  were  con- 
verted to  the  purposes  of  their  own  sordid  avarice,  and 
made  subservient  to  the  enjoyment  of  their  vices,  and 
the  advancement  of  their  power.  They  inculcated  the 
notion,  that  the  surest  passport  to  eternal  bliss  was  to 
overwhelm  them  with  riches,  and  to  indulge  them  with 
extraordinary  privileges;  and  every  haughty  noble,  or 
despotic  sovereign,  who  was  anxious  to  gratify  his  own 
wanton  pleasures,  and  capricious  vices,  at  the  expense 
of  his  people's  prosperity  and  happiness,  endeavored  to 
reconcile  himself  to  his  offended  God,  by  bribing  these 
ambitious  and  greedy  monastics  to  grant  them  absolu- 
tion for  their  deepest  crimes.  Their  history  exhibits, 
in  full  view,  the  melancholy  truth,  that  their  hearts 
were  corrupted  by  the  worst  passions  that  disgrace  hu- 
manity, ana  that  the  discipline  of  the  convent  was  sel- 
dom productive  of  a  single  virtue.  Enthusiasts,  indeed, 
of  every  description,  whose  sentiments  and  feelings 
are  continually  at  war  with  the  dictates  of  nature,  and 
who  renounce  all  the  pleasing  sympathies,  gentle  endear- 
ments, kind  connexions,  and  rational  enjoyments  of 
life,  are  not  likely  to  entertain  any  great  anxiety  for  the 
interest  or  happiness  of  others,  or  to  feel  the  least  com- 
miseration for  their  sorrows.  Occupied  by  sordid  and 
selfish  pursuits,  they  must  hate  and  despise  a  society,  to 
the  lively  enjoyments  of  which  they  look  back  with 
such  keen  regret.  When  the  mind,  alas  !  has  numbed 
its  sense  of  social  joys,  and  become  a  stranger  to 
the  delightful  charms  of  sweet  domestic  love ;  when 
all  affection  for  the  world  and  its  concerns  has  been 
studiously  expelled  from  the  bosom,  and  no  kind  feel- 
ing or  social  inclination  suffered  to  fill  the  vacant  heart: 
when  man  has  separated  himself  from  his  species,  and 
has  not  united  his  soul  with  his  Creator,  he  has  lost  all 
power  of  bein»  happy  himself,  or  of  communicating 
happiness  to  others. 

The  bishop  exceeded  the  inferior  clergy  in  every  kind 
of  profligacy,  as  much  as  in  opulence  and  power:  and, 
of  course,  their  superintending  and  visitorial  authority 
was  not  exerted  to  lessen  or  restrain  the  prevalence  of 
those  vices  which  their  evil  example  contributed  so 
greatly  to  increase.  Time  and  chance  sometimes  pro- 
23* 


270  INFLUENCE   OF   SOLITUDE 

(luce  extraordinary  events;  and  if  a  really  pious,  vigi- 
lant, and  austere  prelate  arose  amidst  the  general  disso- 
luteness of  the  age,  his  single  effort  to  reclaim  these  so- 
litary ecclesiastics  was  seldom  attended  with  success. 
These  fathers,  indeed,  frequently  scrutinized  with  great 
minuteness  into  the  practices  of  the  convents  ;  and  as 
they  were  not  so  able  to  detect  the  guilt  of  incontinen- 
cy,  as  some  philosophers  of  the  present  age  pretend  to 
be,  by  the  lines  and  features  of  the  face,  they  proceeded 
upon  evidence  less  delicate,  perhaps,  but  certainly  more 
demonstrative  and  unerring. 

The  celebrated  Boccace  has,  by  his  witty  and  inge- 
nious tales,  very  severely  satirized  the  licentiousness 
and  immorality  which  prevailed  during  his  time  in  the 
Italian  monasteries ;  but,  by  exposing  the  scandalous 
lives,  and  lashing  the  vices,  of  the  monks,  nuns,  and 
other  orders  of  the  Cathplic  clergy,  he  has  been  decried 
as  a  contemner  of  religion,  and  as  an  enemy  to  true 
piety.  Contemporary  historians  have  also  delivered  the 
most  disgusting  accounts  of  their  intemperance  and 
debauchery.  The  frailty,  indeed,  of  the  female  monas- 
tics was  even  an  article  of  regular  taxation  ;  and  the 
holy  father  did  not  disdain  to  fill  his  coffers  with  the 
price  of  their  impurities.  The  frail  nun,  whether  she 
had  become  immured  within  a  convent,  or  still  resided 
without  its  walls,  might  redeem  her  lost  honor,  and  be 
reinstated  in  her  former  dignity  and  virtue,  for  a  few 
ducats.  This  scandalous  traffic  was  carried  to  an  ex- 
tent that  soon  destroyed  all  sense  of  morality,  and 
heightened  the  hue  of  vice.  Ambrosius,  bishop  of  Ca- 
madoli,  a  prelate  of  extraordinary  virtue,  visited  various 
convents  in  his  diocess,  but,  on  inspecting  their  proceed- 
ings, he  found  no  traces  of  virtue,  or  even  of  decency- 
remaining  in  any  one  of  them  ;  nor  was  he  able,  with 
all  the  sagacity  he  exercised  on  the  subject,  to  reinfuse 
the  smallest  particle  of  these  qualities  into  the  degene- 
rated minds  of  the  sisterhood. 

The  reform  of  the  nunneries  was  the  first  step  that 
distinguished  the  government  of  Sextus  IV.  after  he 
ascended  the  papal  throne,  at  the  close  of  the  fifteenth 
century.  Bossus,  a  celebrated  canon,  of  the  strictest 
principles,  and  most  inflexible  disposition,  was  the  agent 
selected  by  his  holiness  for  this  arduous  achievement. 
The  Genoese  convents,  where  the  nuns  lived  in  open 
defiance  of  all  the  rules  of  decency  and  precepts  of  re- 
ligion, were  the  first  objects  of  his  attention.  The 
orations  which  he  publicly  uttered  from  the  pulpit,  as 


ON  TBfi  PASSIONS.  271 

well  as  the  private  lectures  and  exhortations  which  he 
delivered  to  the  nuns  from  the  confessional  chair,  were 
fine  models,  not  only  of  his  zeal  and  probity,  but  of  his 
literature  and  eloquence.  They  breathed,  in  the  most 
impressive  manner,  the  true  spirit  of  Christian  purity  ; 
but  his  glowing  representations  of  the  bright  beauties 
of  virtue,  and  the  dark  deformities  of  vice  made  little 
impression  upon  their  corrupt  hearts.  Despising  tho 
open  calumnies  of  the  envious,  and  the  secret  hostilities 
of  the  guilty,  he  proceeded,  in  spite  of  all  discourage- 
ment and  opposition,  in  his  highly  honprable  pursuit  j 
and  at  length,  by  his  wisdom  and  assiduity,  beheld  the 
fairest  prospects  of  success  daily  opening  to  his  view. 
The  rays  of  hope,  however,  had  scarcely  heamed  upon 
his  endeavors,  when  they  were  immediately  overcloud- 
ed by  disappointment.  The  arm  of  magistracy,  which 
he  had  wisely  called  upon  to  aid  the  accomplishment  of 
his  design,  was  enervated  by  the  venality  of  its  hand  ; 
and  the  incorrigible  objects  of  his  solicitude  having 
freed  themselves  by  bribery  from  the  terror  of  the  civfl 
power,  contemned  the  reformer's  denunciation  of  eter- 
nal vengeance  hereafter,  and  relapsed  into  their  former 
licentiousness  and  depravity.  A  few,  indeed,  among 
the  great  number  of  nuns  who  inhabited  these  guilty 
convents,  were  converted  by  the  force  of  his  eloquent 
remonstrances,  and  became  afterward  highly  exem- 
plary by  the  virtue  and  piety  of  their  lives  ;^but  the  rest 
abandoned  themselves  to  their  impious  courses ;  and 
though  more  vigorous  methods  were,  in  a  short  time, 
adopted  against  the  refractory  monastics,  they  set  all 
attempts  to  reform  them  at  defiance.  The  modes,  per- 
haps, in  which  their  vices  were  indulged,  changed  with 
the  character  of  the  age ;  and  as  manners  grew  more 
refined,  the  gross  and  shameful  indulgences  of  the 
monks  and  nuns  were  changed  into  a  more  elegant  and 
decent  style  of  enjoyment.  Fashion  might  render  them 
more  prudent  and  reserved  in  their  intrigues ;  but  their 
passions  were  not  less  vicious,  nor  their  dispositions 
less  corrupt. 

The  disorderly  manners  of  these  solitary  devotees 
were  aniong  the  principal  causes  that  produced  the  re- 
formation. There  is  a  point  beyond  which  even  de- 
pravity cannot  go  in  corrupt  ing  the  manners  of  the  age. 
The  number  and  power  of  the  monastics,  or,  as  they 
were  at  that  time  called,  the  regular  clergy,  was  cer- 
tainly great,  and  their  resistance  to  the  approaches  of 
reformation  obstinate ;  but  the  temper  of  the  times  had 


272  INFLUENCE  OF  SOLITUDE 

changed,  and  the  glorious  and  beneficial  event  was  at 
length  accomplished.  The  Catholics  viewed  the  dis- 
memberment of  their  church  as  a  fatal  stroke  to  their 
interest  and  power;  but  it  has  since  been  confessed,  by 
every  candid  and  rational  member  of  this  communion 
to  be  an  event  which  has  contributed  to  advance  morals 
to  a  higher  degree  of  perfection  than  they  had  ever  be- 
fore attained  since  the  introduction  of  Christianity,  and 
to  restore  the  discipline  of  the  church  to  some  portion 
of  its  original  purity. 

The  pure  spirit  of  the  gospel  of  Christ  breathes  forth 
a  holy  religion,  founded  on  meekness,  charity,  kindness, 
and  brotherly  love;  but  fanaticism,  when  joined  to  a 
systematic  and  irrational  solitude,  only  produces  the 
rank  and  poisonous  fruits  we  have  already  described. 
The  trivial,  querulous,  and  intolerant  superstitions, 
which,  during  so  many  ages,  eclipsed  the  reason  and 
morals  of  mankind,  and  obscured,  in  clouds  of  lust 
and  cruelty,  the  bright  rays  of  evangelical  truth,  were 
the  sad  effects  of  irrational  solitude.  The  best  affec- 
tions of  nature  were  perverted  or  suppressed ;  all  the 
gentle  offices  of  humanity  were  neglected ;  moral  sen- 
timents despised ;  and  the  angel  voice  of  piety  unheard, 
or  converted  into  the  violent  vociferations  of  hatred, 
and  the  cries  of  persecution.  The  loud  clangors  of 
pretended  orthodoxy  resounded  with  sanguinary  hosti- 
lities from  shore  to  shore ;  the  earth  was  deluged  with 
the  blood  of  those  who  dared  to  deny,  or  even  to  doubt 
the  absurd  and  idle  dogmas  which  the  monks  every 
where  invented :  and  their  horrid  barbarities  were  at- 
tempted to  be  justified  by  propagating  the  notion  that 
severity  with  heretics  was  the  only  mode  of  preserving 
the  true  faith.  Oh  !  how  blind  is  human  folly  !  How 
obdurate  are  hearts  vitiated  by  pride  !  How  can  that 
be  the  true  faith  which  tears  asunder  every  social  tie ; 
annihilates  all  the  feelings  of  nature ;  places  cruelty  and 
horror  on  the  throne  of  humanity  and  love,  and  scat- 
ters ferocious  fury  and  insatiable  hatred  through  the 
paths  of  life?  But  we  may  now  indulge  a  pleasing 
hope,  that  the  period  is  at  hand,  when  the  sacred  temple 
of  religion,  purified  by  the  labors  of  learned  and  truly 
pious  men,  from  the  foul  stains  with  which  fanaticism 
and  ambition  have  so  long  defaced  it,  shall  be  restored 
to  its  own  divine  simplicity  ;  and  only  the  voice  of  gen- 
tleness, of  love,  of  peace  of  virtue,  and  of  goodness,  be 
heard  within  its  walls.  Then  will  every  Christian  be 
tjuly  taught  the  only  means  by  which  his  days  may  be 


ON  THE  PASSIONS.  273 

Useful  and  his  life  happy :  and  Catholics,  Lutherans, 
Calvinists,  Protestants,  ana  every  really  religious  class 
of  men,  will  unite  in  acts  of  sincere  benevolence  and 
universal  peace.  No  austere,  gloomy,  and  dispiriting 
duties:  no  irrational  penances  and  unnatural  mortifica- 
tion, will  be  enjoined ;  no  intolerant  cruelties  be  inflict- 
ed ;  no  unsocial  institutions  established ;  no  rites  of 
solitary  selfishness  be  required  ;  but  reason  and  religion 
in  divine  perfection,  will  reassume  their  reign ;  and  un- 
affected and  sincere  devotion  will  occupy  every  mind ; 
the  Almhrhty  will  be  \yorshipped  in  spirit  and  in  truth: 
and  we  shall  be  convinced  that ''the  wicked  are  like 
the  troubled  sea  when  it  cannot  rest;  but  that  the  work 
of  righteousness  is  peace,  and  the  effect  of  righteous- 
ness, quietude  and  assurance  for  ever."  To  effect  this, 
a  rational  retirement  from  the  tumults  of  the  world 
will  be  occasionally  necessary,  in  order  to  commune 
with  our  own  hearts,  and  be  still,  and  to  dispose  our 
minds  to  such  a  train  of  thinking,  as  shall  prepare  us, 
when  the  giddy  whirl  of  life  is  finished  for  the  society 
of  more  exalted  spirits. 

Oh  !  would  mankind  but  make  fair  truth  their  guide, 

And  force  the  helm  from  prejudice  and  pride, 

Were  once  these  maxims  fix-d,  that  God's  our  friend, 

Virtue  our  good,  and  happiness  our  end, 

How  soon  must  reason  o'er  the  world  prevail, 

And  error,  fraud  and  superstition  fail ! 

None  would  hereafter,  then,  with  groundless  fear, 

Describe  th'  Almighty  cruel  and  severe ; 

Predestinating  some,  without  pretence, 

To  heaven ;  and  some  to  hell,  for  no  offence ; 

Inflicting  endless  pains  for  transient  crimes, 

And  favoring  sects  or  nations,  men  or  times. 

To  please  him,  none  would  foolishly  forbear, 

Or  food,  or  rest,  or  itch  in  shirts  of  hair : 

Or  deem  it  merit  to  believe,  or  teach, 

What  reason  contradicts  or  cannot  reach. 

None  would  fierce  zeal  for  piety  mistake, 

Or  malice,  for  whatever  tenet's  sake  ; 

Or  think  salvation  to  one  sect  confin'd, 

And  heaven  too  narrow  to  contain  mankind. 

No  more  would  brutal  rage  disturb  ourpcaca, 

But  envy,  hatred,  war,  and  discord  cease  ; 

Our  own  and  others'  good  each  hour  employ, 

And  all  chines  smile  with  universal  joy  ; 

Fair  virtue  then,  with  pure  religion  join'd, 

Would  regulate  and  bless  the  human  mind. 

And  man  be  what  his  Maker  fit  si  desiga'd. 


274  DANGER  OF  IDLENESS 

CHAPTER  VII. 

Of  the  danger  of  idleness  in  solitude. 

IDLENESS  is  truly  said  to  be  the  root  of  all  evil;  and 
solitude  certainly  encourages  in  the  generality  of  its  vo- 
taries this  baneful  disposition.  Nature  has  so  framed 
the  character  of  man,  that  his  happiness  essentially  de- 
pends on  his  passions  being  properly  interested,  his 
imagination  busied,  and  his  faculties  employed ;  but 
these  engagements  are  seldom  found  in  the  vacant 
sceoes  and  tedious  hours  of  retirement  from  the  world, 
except  by  those  who  have  acquired  the  great  and  happy 
art  of  furnishing  their  own  amusements;  an  art  which, 
as  we  have  already  shown,  can  never  be  learnt  in  the 
irrational  solitude  of  caves  and  cells. 

The  idleness  which  solitude  is  so  apt  to  induce,  is 
dangerous  in  proportion  to  the  natural  strength,  activity, 
and  spirit  of  the  mind  ;  for  it  is  observed,  that  the  high- 
est characters  are  frequently  goaded  by  that  restless- 
ness which  arcompanies  leisure,  to  acts  of  the  wildest 
outrage  and  greatest  enormity.  The  ancient  legisla- 
tors were  so  conscious  that  indolence,  whether  indulged 
in  solitude  or.  in  society,  is  the  nurse  of  civil  commo- 
tion, and  the  chief  instigator  of  moral  turpitude,  that 
they  wisely  framed  their  laws  to  prevent  its  existence. 
Solon,  observing  that  the  city  was  filled  with  persons 
who  assembled  from  all  parts  on  account  of  the  great 
security  in  which  the  people  lived  in  Attica,  that  the 
country  withal  was  poor  and  barren,  and  being  con- 
scious that  merchants,  who  traffic  by  sea,  do  not  use  to 
transport  their  goods  where  they  can  have  nothing  in 
exchange,  turned  the  attention  of  the  citizens  to  manu- 
factures ;  and  for  this  purpose  made  a  law,  that  he  who 
was  three  times  convicted  of  idleness,  should  be  deem- 
ed infamous  ;  that  no  son  should  be  obliged  to  main- 
tain his  father  if  he  had  not  taught  him  a  trade; 
that  trade  should  be  accounted  lionorable  ;  and  that  the 
council  of  the  Areopagus  should  examine  into  every 
man's  means  of  living,  and  chastise  the  idle  with  the 
greatest  severity.  Draco  conceived  it  so  necessary  to 
prevent  the  prevalency  of  a  vice  to  \yhich  man  is  by 
nature  prone,  and  which  is  so  destructive  to  his  charac- 
ter, and  ruinous  to  his  manners,  that  he  punished  idle- 
ness with  death.  The  tyrant  Pisistratus,  as Theophras- 
tus  relates,  was  so  convinced  of  the  importance  of  pre- 


IS  SOLITUDE  2f5 

venting  idleness  among  his  subjects,  that  he  made  a 
law  against  it,  which  produced  at  once  industry  in  the 
country,  and  tranquillity  in  the  city.  Pericles,  who,  in 
order  to  relieve  Athens  from  a  number  of  lazy  citizens, 
who>e  lives  were  neither  employed  in  virtuous  actions, 
nor  guarded  from  guilt  by  habits  of  industry,  planted 
colonies  in  Chersonesus,  Naxos,  Andros,  Thrace,  and 
even  in  Italy,  and  sent  them  thither ;  for  this  sagacious 
statesman  saw  the  danger  of  indulging  this  growing 
vice,  and  wisely  took  precautions  to  prevent  it.  Nothing, 
indeed,  contributes  more  essentially  to  the  tranquillity 
of  a  nation,  and  to  the  peaceful  demeanor  of  its  inhabi- 
tants, than  those  artificial  wants  which  luxury  intro- 
duces; for,  by  creating  a  demand  for  the  fashionable 
articles,  they  engage  the  attention,  and  employ  the 
hands  of  a  multitude  of  manufacturers  and  artificers, 
who,  if  they  were  left  in  that  restless  indolence  which 
the  want  of  work  creates,  would  certainly  be  unhappy 
themselves,  and  in  all  probability  would  be  fomenting 
mischief  in  the  minds  of  others.  To  suspend  only  for 
one  week,  the  vast  multitudes  that  are  employed  in  the 
several  mechanical  trades  and  manufactories  in  Great 
Britain,  would  be  to  run  the  risk  of  involving  the  me- 
tropolis of  that  great,  flourishing,  and  powerful  country, 
once  more  in  names:  for  it  would  be  converting  the 
populace  into  an  aptly  disposed  train  of  combustible 
matter,  which  being  kindled  by  the  least  spark  of  acci- 
dental enthusiasm,  by  the  heat  of  political  faction,  or, 
indeed,  by  their  own  internal  fermentation,  would  ex- 
plode into  the  most  flagrant  enormities.  Nature,  it  is 
said,  abhors  a  vacuum  ;  and  this  old  peripatetic  princi- 
ple may  be  properly  applied  to  the  intellect,  which  will 
embrace  any  thing,  however  absurd  or  criminal,  rather 
than  be  wholly  without  an  object.  The  same  author 
also  observes,  that  every  man  may  date  the  predomi- 
nance of  those  desires  that  disturb  his  life,  and  con- 
taminate his  conscience,  from  some  unhappy  hour  when 
too  much  leisure  exposed  him  to  their  incursions  ;  for 
that  he  has  lived  with  little  observation,  either  on  him- 
self or  others.  wh«  does  not  know  that  to  be  idle  is  to 
be  vicious.  'Many  writers  of  eminence  in  physic." 
continues  this  eminent  writer,  whose  works  not  only 
disclose  his  general  acquaintance  \vith  life  and  manners, 
but  a  profound  knowledge  of  human  nature,  "have 
laid  out  their  diligence  upon  the  consideration  of  those 
distempers  to  which  men  are  exposed  by  particular 
states  of  life ;  and  very  learned  treatises  have  been  pro- 


276  DANGER  OF  IDLENESS 

duced  upon  the  maladies  of  the  camp,  the  sea,  and  the 
mines.  There  are,  indeed,  few  employments  which  a 
man  accustomed  to  academical  inquiries  and  medical 
refinements,  would  not  find  reason  for  declining',  as 
dangerous  to  health,  did  not  his  learning  or  experience 
inform  him,  that  almost  every  occupation,  however  in- 
convenient or  formidable,  is  happier  and  safer  than  a 
life  of  sloth.  The  necessity  of  action  is  not  only  de- 
monstrable from  the  fabric  of  the  body,  but  evident 
from  observation  of  the  universal  practice  of  mankind  ; 
who  for  the  preservation  of  health  in  those  whose  ranK 
or  wealth  exempts  them  from  the  necessity  of  lucra- 
tive labors,  have  invented  sports  and  diversions,  though 
not  of  equal  use  to  the  world  with  manual  trades,  yet 
of  equal  fatigue  to  those  who  practice  them,  and  differ- 
ing only  from  the  drudgery  of  the  husbandman  or 
manufacturer,  as  they  are  acts  of  choice,  and  therefore 
performed  without  the  painful  sense  of  compulsion. 
The  huntsman  rises  early,  pursues  his  game  through 
all  the  dangers  and  obstructions  of  the  chase,  swims 
rivers,  and  scales  precipices,  till  he  returns  home,  no 
less  harassed  than  the  soldier,  and  has,  perhaps,  some- 
times incurred  as  great  hazard  of  wounds  and  death  ; 
yet  he  has  no  motive  to  excite  his  ardor ;  he  is  neither 
subject  to  the  command  of  a  general,  nor  dreads  the 
penalties  of  neglect  or  disobedience:  he  has  neither 
profits  nor  honors  to  expect  from  his  perils  and  con- 
quests :  but  acts  with  the  hope  of  mural  or  civic  gar- 
lands, and  must  content  himself  with  the  praise  of  his 
tenants  and  companions.  But  such  is  the  constitution 
of  man,  that  labor  is  Us  own  reward;  nor  will  any  ex- 
ternal incitements  be  requisite,  if  it  be  considered  how 
much  happiness  is  gained,  and  how  much  misery 
escaped,  by  frequent  and  violent  agitation  of  the  body. 
Ease  is  the  most  that  can  be  hoped  from  a  sedentary 
and  inactive  habit ;  but  ease  is  a  mere  neutral  state,  be- 
tween pain  and  pleasure.  The  dance  of  spirits,  the 
bound  of  vigor,  readiness  of  enterprise,  and  defiance  of  fa- 
tigue, are  reserved  for  him  that  braces  his  nerves,  and  har- 
dens his  fibres ;  that  keeps  his  limbs  pliant  with  motion ; 
and,  by  frequent  exposure  fortifies  his  frame  against  the 
common  accidents  of  cold  and  heat.  With  ease,  how- 
ever, if  it  could  be  secured,  many  would  be  content ; 
but  nothing  terrestrial  can  be  kept  at  a  stand.  Ease,  if 
it  is  not  rising  into  pleasure,  will  be  settling  into  pain  ; 
and  whatever  hopes  the  dreams  of  speculation  may 
suggest,  of  observing  the  proportion  between  retirement 


tN  SOLlTtJDfi.  2?? 

and  labor,  and  keeping  the  body  in  a  healthy  state  by 
supplies  exactly  equal  to  its  weight,  we  know  that,  in 
effect,  the  vital  powers,  unexcited  by  motion,  grow  gra- 
dually languid,  decay,  and  die.  It  is  necessary  to  that 
perfection  of  which  our  present  state  is  capable,  that 
the  mind  and  body  should  both  be  kept  in  action  ;  that 
neither  the  faculties  of  the  one  nor  the  other  should  be 
suffered  to  grow  lax  or  torpid  for  want  of  use ;  that 
neither  health  can  be  purchased  by  voluntary  submis- 
sion to  ignorance,  nor  knowledge  cultivated  at  the  ex- 
pense of  that  health,  which  must  enable  it  either  to 
give  pleasure  to  its  possessor,  or  assistance  to  others. 
It  is  too  frequently  the  pride  of  students,  to  despise 
those  amusements  which  give  to  the  rest  of  mankind 
strength  of  limbs  and  cheerfulness  of  heart.  Solitude 
and  contemplation  are,  indeed,  seldom  consistent  with 
such  skill  in  common  exercises  or  sports,  as  is  necessa- 
ry to  make  them  practised  with  delight;  and  no  man  is 
willing  to  do  that  of  which  the  necessity  is  not  press- 
ing, \yhen  he  knows  that  his  awkwardness  but  makes 
him  ridiculous.  I  have  always  admired  the  wisdom  of 
those  by  whom  our  female  education  was  instituted, 
for  having  contrived  that  all  women,  of  whatever  con- 
dition, should  be  taught  some  arts  of  manufacture,  by 
which  the  vacuities  of  recluse  and  domestic  leisure 
may  be  filled  up.  These  arts  are  more  necessary,  as 
the  weakness  of  their  sex,  and  the  general  system  of 
life,  debar  ladies  from  many  enjoyments,  which,  by  di- 
versifying the  circumstances  of  men,  preserve  them 
from  being  cankered  by  the  rust  of  their  own  thoughts. 
I  know  not  how  much  of  the  virtue  and  happiness  of 
the  world  may  be  the  consequence  of  this  judicious  re- 
gulation. Perhaps  the  most  powerful  fancy  might  be 
unable  to  figure  the  confusion  and  slaughter  that  would 
be  produced  by  so  many  piercing  eyes  and  vivid  under- 
standings, turned  loose  upon  mankind,  with  no  other 
business  than  to  sparkle  and  intrigue,  to  perplex  and 
destroy.  For  my  own  part,  whenever  chance  brings 
within  my  observation  a  knot  of  misses  busy  at  their 
needles,  I  consider  myself  as  in  the  school  of  virtue ; 
and  though  I  have  no  extraordinary  skill  in  plain  work, 
or  embroidery,  look  upon  their  operations  with  as  much 
satisfaction  as  their  governess,  because  I  regard  them 
as  providing  a  security  against  the  most  dangerous  en- 
enarers  of  the  soul,  by  enabling  them  to  exclude  idle- 
ness from  their  solitary  moments,  and  with  idleness, 
her  attendant  train  of  passions,  fancies,  chimeras,  fears, 
24 


£78  DANGEH  OP  IDLENESS  &C* 

sorrows,  and  desires.  Ovid  and  Cervantes  will  inform 
them  that  love  Iftis  no  power  but  on  those  whom  he 
catches  unemployed :  and  Hector,  in  the  Iliad,  when 
he  sees  Andromache  overwhelmed  with  tears,  sends 
her  for  consolation  to  the  loom  and  the  distaff.  Certain 
it  is,  that  wild  wishes,  and  vain  imaginations,  never 
take  such  firm  possession  of  the  mind,  as  when  it  is 
found  empty  and  unemployed," 

Idleness,  indeed,  was  the  spreading  root  from  which 
all  the  vices  and  crimes  of  the  oriental  nuns  so  luxuri- 
antly branched.  Few  of  them  had  any  taste  for  science, 
or  were  enabled  by  the  habits  either  of  reflection,  or 
industry  to  charm  away  the  tediousness  of  solitude,  or 
to  relieve  that  weariness  which  must  necessarily  ac- 
company their  abstracted  situation.  The  talents  with 
which  nature  had  endowed  them  were  uncultivated  ; 
the  glimmering  lights  of  reason  were  obscured  by  a 
blind  and  headlong  zeal ;  and  their  temper  soured  by 
the  circumstances  of  their  forlorn  conditions.  Certain 
it  is,  that  the  only  means  of  avoiding  unhappiness  and 
misery  in  solitude,  and  perhaps  in  society  also,  is  to 
keep  the  mind  continually  engaged  in,  or  occupied  by, 
some  laudable  pursuit.  The  earliest  professors  of  a 
life  of  solitude,  although  they  removed  themselves 
far  from  the  haunts  of  men,  among  "  caverns  deep  and 
deserts  idle,"  where  nature  denied  her  sons  the  most 
common  of  her  blessings,  employed  themselves  in  en- 
deavoring to  c^tivate  the  rude  and  barren  soil  during 
those  interval^!  which  they  were  not  occupied  in  the 
ordinary  labors  of  religion  ;  and  even  those  whose  ex- 
traordinary sanctity  confined  them  the  whole  day  in 
their  cells,  found  the  necessity  of  filling  up  their  leisure, 
by  exercising  the  manual  arts  for  which  they  were  re- 
spectively suited.  The  rules,  indeed,  which  were  ori- 
ginally established  in  most  of  the  convents,  ordained 
that  the  time  and  attention  of  a  monk  should  never  be 
for  a  moment  vacant  or  unemployed :  but  this  excellent 
precept  was  soon  rendered  obsolete  ;  and  the  sad  con- 
sequences which  resulted  from  its  non-observance,  we 
have  already,  in  some  degree,  described. 


CONCLUSION.  279 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

Conclusion. 

THE  anxiety  with  which  I  have  endeavored  to  de- 
scribe the  advantages  and  the  disadvantages  which, 
under  particular  circumstances,  and  in  particular  situa- 
tions, are  likely  to  be  exjjerienced  by  those  who  devote 
themselves  to  solitary  retirement,  may  perhaps,  occa- 
sion me  to  be  viewed  by  some  as  its  romantic  panegy- 
rist, and  by  others  as  its  uncandid  censor.  I  shall 
therefore  endeavor,  in  this  concluding  chapter,  to  pre- 
vent a  misconstruction  of  my  opinion,  by  explicitly  de- 
claring the  inferences  which  ought,  m  fairness,  to  be 
drawn  from  what  I  have  said. 

The  advocates  for  a  life  of  uninterrupted  society  will, 
in  all  probability,  accuse  me  of  being  a  morose  and 
gloomy  philosopher ;  an  inveterate  enemy  to  social  in- 
tercourse: who,  by  recommending  a  melancholy  and 
sullen  seclusion,  and  interdicting  mankind  from  enjoy- 
ing the  pleasures  of  life,  would  sour  their  tempers,  sub- 
due their  affections,  annihilate  the  best  feelings  of  the 
heart,  pervert  the  noble  faculty  of  reason,  and  thereby 
once  more  plunge  the  world  into  that  dark  abyss  of  bar- 
barism, from  which  it  has  been  so  happily  rescued  by 
the  establishment  and  civilization  of  society. 

The  advocates  for  a  life  of  continual  solitude  will 
most  probably,  on  the  other  hand,  accuse  me  of  a  de- 
sign to  deprive  the  species  of  one  of  the  most  pleasing 
and  satisfactory  delights,  by  exciting  an  unjust  antipa- 
thy, raising  an  unfounded  alarm,  depreciating  the  uses, 
and  aggravating  the  abuses,  of  solitude ;  and  by  these 
means  endeavoring  to  encourage  that  spirit  of  licen- 
tiousness and  dissipation  which  so  strongly  mark 
the  degeneracy,  and  tend  to  promote  the  vices  of 
the  age. 

The  respective  advocates  for  these  opinions,  however, 
equally  mistake  the  intent  and  view  I  had  in  composing 
this  treatise.  I  do  sincerely  assure  them,  that  it  was 
very  far  from  my  intention  to  cause  a  relaxation  of  the 
exercise  of  any  of  the  civil  duties  of  life ;  to  impair  in 
any  degree,  the  social  dispositions  of  the  human  heart ; 
to  lessen  any  inclination  to  rational  retirement :  or  to 
prevent  the  beneficent  practice  of  self-communion, 
which  solitude  is  best  calculated  to  promote.  The  fine 
and  generous  philanthropy  of  that  mind  which,  enter- 


580  CONCLUSION. 

taining  notions  of  universal  benevolence,  seeks  to  feel 
a  love  for,  and  to  promote  the  eood  of,  the  whole  hu- 
man race,  can  never  be  injured  by  an  attachment  to 
domestic  pleasures,  or  by  cultivating  the  soft  and  gen- 
tle affections  which  are  only  to  be  found  in  the  small 
circles  of  private  life,  and  can  never  be  truly  enjoyed, 
except  in  the  bosem  of  love,  or  the  arms  of  friendship : 
nor  will  an  occasional  and  rational  retirement  from 
the  tumults  of  the  world  lessen  any  of  the  noble  sym- 
pathies of  the  human  heart:  but  on  the  contrary,  by 
enlarging  those  ideas  and  feelings  which  have  sprung 
fromlhe  connexions  and  dependencies  which  its  votary 
niay  have  formed  with  individuals,  and  by  generaliz- 
ing his  particular  interests  and  concerns,  may  enable 
him  to  extend  the  social  principle  and  increase  the  cir- 
cle of  his  benevolence. 

God  loves  from  whole  to  parts  ;  but  human  soul 
Must  rise  from  individual  to  whole. 
Sell"  love  but  serves  the  virtuous  mind  to  wake, 
As  the  small  pebble  stirs  the  peaceful  lake  : 
The  centre  mov'd,  a  circle  straight  succeeds; 
Another  still,  and  still  another  spreads  ; 
Friend,  parent,  neighbor,  first  it  will  embrace ; 
His  country  next ;  and  next,  all  human  race. 

The  chief  design  of  this  work  was,  to  exhibit  the  ne- 
cessity of  combining  the  uses  of  solitude  with  those  oi 
society  ;  to  show,  in  the  strongest  light,  the  advantages 
they  may  mutually  derive  from  each  other ;  to  convince 
mankind  of  the  danger  of  running  into  either  extreme ; 
to  teach  the  advocate  for  uninterrupted  society,  how 
highly  all  the  social  virtues  may  be  improved,  and  its 
vices  easily  abandoned,  by  habits  of  solitary  abstrac- 
tion ;  and  the  advocate  for  continual  solitude,  how 
much  that  indocility  and  arrogance  of  character  which 
is  contracted  by  a  total  absence  from  the  world,  may 
be  corrected  by  the  urbanity  of  society,  and  by  the 
company  and  conversation  of  the  learned  and  polite. 

Petrarch,  while  in  the  prime  of  life,  and  amidst  the 
happiest  exertions  of  his  extraordinary  genius,  quitted 
all  the  seducing  charms  of  societyt  and  retired  from 
love  and  Avignon,  to  indulge  his  mind  in  literary  pur- 
suits, and  to  relieve  his  heart  from  the  unfortunate  pas- 
sion by  which  it  was  enthralled.  No  situation,  he  con- 
ceived, was  so  favorable  for  these  purposes  as  the  high- 
ly romantic  and  delightful  solitude  of  Vaucluse.  It  was 
situated  within  view  of  the  Mediterranean  sea,  in  a  lit- 
tle valley,  inclosed  by  a  semicircular  barrier  of  rocks, 


CONCLUSION.  281 

on  a  plain  as  beautiful  as  the  vale  of  Tempe.  The 
rocks  were  high,  bold,  and  grotesque ;  and  the  valley 
was  divided  by  a  river,  along  the  banks  of  which  were 
meadows  and  pastures  of  a  perpetual  verdure.  A  path 
on  the  left  side  of  the  river,  led,  by  gentle  windings,  to 
the  head  of  this  vast  amphitheatre.  At  the  foot  of  the 
highest  rock,  and  directly  in  front  of  the  valley,  was  a 
prodigious  cavern,  hollowed  by  the  hand  of  nature,  from 
whence  arose  a  spring  almost  as  celebrated  as  that  of 
Helicon.  The  gloom  of  the  cavern,  which  was  accessi- 
ble when  the  waters  were  low,  was  tremendous.  It 
consisted  of  two  excavations  ;  the  one  forming  an  arch 
of  sixty  feet  high  ;  and  the  other,  which  was  within,  of 
thirty  feet.  In  the  centre  of  this  subterraneous  rock 
was  an  oval  basin,  of  one  hundred  and  eight  feet  dia- 
meter, into  which  that  copious  stream  which  forms  the 
river  Sorgia  rises  silently,  without  even  a  jet  or  bubble. 
The  depth  of  this  basin  has  eluded  all  attempts  to  fa- 
thom it.  In  this  charming  retreat,  while  he  vainly  en- 
deavored, during  a  period  of  twenty  years,  to  forget,  he 
enabled  himself  to  endure  the  absence  of  his  beloved 
Laura,  and  to  compare,  with  the  highest  satisfaction, 
the  pure  pleasures  of  rural  retirement  with  the  false 
joys  of  a  vicious  and  corrupted  court,  the  manners  and 
principles  of  which,  indeed,  he  had  always  had  good 
sense  enough  to  discover  and  despise.  But  this  soli- 
tude, with  all  its  charms,  could  not  at  length  prevent 
him  from  returning  to  the  more  splendid  and  busy 
scenes  of  public  life.  The  advantages  he  had  derived 
from  a  retreat  of  twenty  years,  would,  he  conceived, 
enable  him  to  mix  with  the  world  without  the  danger 
of  being  corrupted  by  its  vices;  and  after  reasoning 
with  himself  for  some  time  in  this  way,  he  suddenly 
abandoned  the  peaceful  privacy  of  Vaucluse,  and  preci- 
pitated himself  into  the  gayest  and  most  active  scenes 
of  a  luxurious  city.  The  inhabitants  of  Avignon  were 
amazed  to  behold  the  hermit  of  Vaucluse,  the  tender 
fugitive  from  love,  the  philosophic  contemner  of  society, 
who  could  scarcely  exist,  except  in  the  midst  of  roman- 
tic rocks  and  flowery  forests,  shining  all  at  once  the 
bright  star  of  the  fashionable  hemisphere,  and  the 
choice  spirit  of  every  private  and  public  entertainment. 

Wer'e  sadly  ignorant,  when  we  hope  to  find 
In  shades  a  med'cine  for  a  troubled  mind  ; 
Wan  grief  will  haunt  us  wheresoe'er  we  go, 
Sigh  in  the  breeze,  and  In  the  streamlet  flow : 
There  pale  inaction  pines  his  life  away, 
And  satiate,  curses  the  return  of  day  ; 
24* 


262  CONCLUSION. 

There  love,  insatiate,  rages  wild  with  pain, 
Endures  the  blast,  or  plunges  in  the  main  • 
There  superstition  broods  o'er  all  her  Tears 
And  yells  of  demons  in  the  zephyr  hears 
He  who  a  hermit  is  resolv'd  to  dwell, 
And  bide  a  social  life  a  long  farewell, 
la  impious 

It  has  already  been  observed,  upon  the  authority  of  a 
very  accurate  and  profound  observer  of  nature,  that  a 
very  extraordinary  temperament  of  mind  and  constitu- 
tion of  body  are  required  to  sustain,  with  tranquillity 
and  endurance,  the  various  fatigues  of  continued  soli- 
tude ;  and  certain  it  is,  that  a  human  creature  who  is 
constantly  pent  up  in  seclusion,  must,  if  he  be  not  of  a 
very  exalted  character,  soon  become  melancholy  and 
miserable.  Happiness,  like  every  other  valuable  quality, 
cannot  be  completely  possessed,  without  encountering 
many  dangers,  and  conquering  many  difficulties.  The 
prize  is  great,  but  the  task  is  arduous.  A  healthy  body, 
and  vigorous  mind,  are  as  essentially  necessary  to  the 
enterprise,  as  equal  courage  and  fortitude  are  to  its  suc- 
cess. The  bold  adventurer,  who.  destitute  of  these  re- 
sources, quits  the  bays  and  harbors  of  society,  shallow, 
rocky,  and  dangerous,  as  they  xindoubtedly  are,  and 
commits  himself  to  the  wild  and  expansive  sea  of  soli- 
tude, will  sink  into  its  deep  and  disastrous  bed  without 
a  hold  to  save  him  from  destruction.  The  few  instan- 
ces we  have  already  given,  to  which  many  more  might 
easily  be  added,  furnish  unequivocal  testimony  of  ilic 
truth  of  this  grand  precept,  it  is  not  good  for  man  to  be 
alone:  which  was  given  by  the  great  Author  of  nature, 
and  imprinted  in  characters  sufficiently  legible  on  the 
human  heart. 

God  never  made  a  solitary  man  : 

'Twoulrt.jar  the  concord  of  his  general  plan. 

Should  man  through  nature  solitary  roam, 

His  will  his  sovereign,  every  where  his  home, 

What  force  would  guard  him  from  the  lion's  jaw  ? 

What  swiftness  save  him  from  the  panther's  paw  ? 

Or  should  fate  lead  him  to  some  safer  shore. 

Where  panthers  never  prowl,  nor  lions  roar, 

Where  liberal  nature  all  her  charms  bestows, 

Suns  shine,  birds  sing,  flowers  bloom,  and  water  flows, 

Still  discontented,  though  such  glories  shone 

He'il  sigh  and  murmur  lo  be  there  alone. 

Content  cannot  be  procured,  except  by  social  inter- 
course, or  a  judicious  communion  with  those  whom 
congenial  tastes,  and  similar  talent  and  dispositions, 


CONCLUSION.  283 

point  out  for  our  companions.  The  civilization  of  man, 
from  whence  the  species  derive  such  happy  consequen- 
ces, results  entirely  from  a  proper  management  of  the 
social  principles  :  even  the  source  of  his  support,  the 
melioration  of  the  otherwise  rude  and  unprofitable 
earth,  can  only  be  attained  by  social  combination.  How 
erroneous  a  notion,  therefore,  must  the  minds  of  those 
men  have  formed  of  "their  being's  end  and  aim,':  and 
how  strong  must  their  antipathies  to  the  species  be,  who 
like  a  certain  celebrated  French  hermit,  would  choose 
a  station  among  the  craters  of  Vesuvius,  as  a  place  which, 
afforded  them  greater  security  than  the  society  of  man- 
kind !  The  idea  of  being  able  to  produce  our  own  hap- 
piness from  the  stores  of  amusement  and  delight  which 
we  ourselves  may  possess,  independently  of  all  com- 
munication with,  or  assistance  from  others,  is  certainly 
extremely  flattering  to  the  natural  pride  of  man ;  but 
even  if  this  were  possible,  and  that  a  solitary  enthusiast 
could  work  up  his  feelings  to  a  higher  and  more  lasting 
degree  of  felicity,  than  an  active  inhabitant  of  the  world, 
anfid  all  its  seducing  vices  and  enchanting  follies,  is  ca- 
pable of  eiijoying,  it  would  not  follow  that  society  is  not 
the  province  of  all  those  whom  peculiar  circumstances 
have  not  unfitted  for  its  duties  and  enjoyments.  It  is, 
indeed,  a  false  and  deceitful  notion,  that  a  purer  stream 
of  happiness  is  to  be  found  in  the  delightful  bowers  of 
solitude  than  in  the  busy  walks  of  men.  Neither  of 
Ihese  stations  enjoy  exclusively  this  envied  stream:  for 
it  flows  along  the  vale  of  peace,  which  lies  between  the 
two  extremes  ;  and  those  who  follow  it  with  a  steady 
pace,  without  deviating  too  widely  from  its  brink  on 
either  side,  will  reach  its  source,  and  taste  it  at  its 
spring.  But  devious,  to  a  certain  degree,  must  be  the 
walk ;  for  the  enjoyments  of  life  are^best  attained  by 
being1  varied  with  judgment  and  discretion.  The  finest 
joys  grow  nauseous  to  the  taste  when  the  cup  of  plea- 
sure is  dramed  to  its  dregs.  The  highest  delight  loses 
its  attraction  by  too  frequent  recurrence.  It  is  only  by 
a  proper  mixture  and  combination  of  the  pleasures  of 
society  with  those  of  solitude,  of  the  gay  and  lively  re- 
creations of  the  world  with  the  serene  and  tranquil  sa- 
tisfactions of  retirement,  that  we  can  enjoy  each  in  its 
highest  relish.  Life  is  intolerable  without  society  ;  and 
society  loses  half  its  charms  by  being  too  eagerly  and 
constantly  pursued.  Society,  indeed,  by  bringing  men 
of  congenial  minds  and  similar  dispositions  together, 
uniting  them  by  a  community  of  pursuits,  and  a  reel- 


284  CONCLUSION. 

procal  sympathy  of  interests,  may  greatly  assist  the 
cause  of  truth  and  virtue,  by  advancing  the  means  of 
human  knowledge  and  multiplying  the  ties  of  human 
affections ;  and  so  far  as  the  festive  board,  the  lively 
dance,  the  brilliant  coterie,  and  other  elegant  and  fa- 
shionable pastimes,  contribute  to  these  ends,  they  are 
truly  valuable,  and  deserve,  not  only  encouragement, 
but  approbation.  On  this  principle,  the  various  clubs 
which  are  formed  by  artizans,  and  other  inferior  orders 
in  society,  ought  to  be  respected.  The  mind,  in  order 
to  preserve  its  useful  activity  and  proper  tone,  must  be 
occasionally  relaxed,  which  cannot  be  so  beneficially 
effected  as  by  means  of  associations  founded  on  the 
pursuit  of  common  pleasure.  A  friendly  meeting,  or  a 
social  entertainment,  exhilarates  the  spirits,  exercises 
the  faculties  of  the  mind  ;  calls  forth  the  feelins-s  of  the 
heart,  and  creates,  when  properly  formed  and  indulged, 
a  reciprocity  of  kmdaess,  confidence,  and  esteem.  It 
softens  the  severity  of  virtue,  while  it  strengthens  and 
enforces  its  effects.  I  therefore  sincerely  Exhort  my 
disciples  not  to  absent  themselves  morosely  from  public 
places,  nor  to  avoid  the  social  throng;  which  cannot 
fail  to  afford  to  judicious,  rational,  and  feeling  minds, 
many  subjects  both  of  amusement  and  instruction.  It 
is  true,  that  we  cannot  relish  the  pleasures,  and  taste 
the  advantages  of  society,  without  being  able  to  give  a 
patient  hearing  to  the  tongue  of  folly,  to  excuse  error, 
to  bear  with  infirmity,  to  view  mediocrity  of  talents 
without  scorn,  and  illiberality  of  sentiment  without  re- 
tort ;  to  indulge  frivolity  of  behavior,  and  even  to  for- 
give rudeness  of  manners :  but  the  performance  of 
these  conditions  meets  with  its  own  reward ;  for  it  is 
scarcely  credible,  how  very  much  our  own  tempers  and 
dispositions  are  meliorated,  and  our  understandings  im- 
proved, by  bearing  with  the  different  tempers,  and  hu- 
moring the  perverse  dispositions  of  others;  we  experi- 
ence by  such  a  conduct  the  high  delight  of  pleasing 
others,  and  the  great  advantage  of  improving  our- 
selves. 

Delightful,  however,  as  social  pleasures  naturally  are 
to  the  human  mind;  necessary  as  they  certainly  are, 
under  proper  regulations,  to  the  preservation  of  the 
spirits  ;  and  beneficial  as  they  may  undoubtedly  be  ren- 
dered, by  judicious  choice  and  wise  reflection,  it  is  not 
every  person  who  withdraws  himself  from  the  highlv 
colored  scenes  of  public  life,  to  the  shades  of  privacy 
»nd  retirement,  that  deserves  the  imputation  generally 


CONCLUSION.  286 

cast  on  such  characters,  of  being1  inclined  to  eullennesa 
and  misanthropy.  There  are  many  who  seek  the  re- 
treats of  solitude,  for  the  very  purpose  of  rendering 
their  efforts  more  useful  to  society ;  many  who  relin- 
quish the  endearments  of  private  friendship,  and  the 
applauses  of  public  approbation,  only  the  more  nobly  to 
deserve  them  ;  and  many,  whose  souls  are  so  bitterly 
tormented  by  the  anguish  of  misfortune,  and  the  sick- 
ness of  sorrow,  that  they  find  no  relief  from  society,  and 
recede  from  its  scenes  to  avoid  giving  disturbance  to 
that  gayety  which  they  are  incapable  of  enjoying,  and 
to  prevent  their  fractious  feelings  from  molesting  any 
but  themselves.  There  are  others  who  retire  from  the 
world  to  pursue  objects  the  most  glorious  to  the  indivi- 
dual, and  most  useful  to  mankind  ;  the  attainment  of 
which  can  only  be  hoped  for  from  the  advantages  which 
solitude  affords.  Glowing  ^yith  a  sublime  and  gene- 
rous spirit,  they  sacrifice  the  joys  of  life,  the  charms  of 
society,  and  even  the  advantages  of  health,  to  shew 
their  attachment  to  the  species;  and,  immured  from 
the  sight  of  this  world,  toil,  with  indefatigable  industry, 
for  its  benefit,  without  expecting  any  other  reward  than 
the  satisfaction  resulting  from  the  sense  of  having  pro- 
moted the  interest,  and  "advanced  the  happiness  of  their 
fellow  creatures.  So  also, 

Sage  reflection,  bent  with  years  ; 
Conscious  virtue,  void  of  fears  : 
Muffled  silence,  wood-nymph  shy; 
Meditation's  piercing  eye  ; 
Halcyon  peace  on  moss  reclin'd ; 
Retrospect,  that  sears  the  mind ; 
Rapt,  earth-gazing  reverie ; 
Blushing,  artless  modesty ; 
Health,  that  snuffs  the  morning  air ; 
Full-cyd  truth,  with  bosom  bare; 
Inspiration,  nature's  child, 
Seek  the  solitary  wild. 

The  state  of  the  mind,  if  properly  consulted,  will  dis- 
cover whether  solitude  may  be  safely  indulged.  The 
bosom  that,  amidst  the  gay  delight-?  and  luxurious  plea- 
sures of  the  world,  feels  a  rising  discontent  and  unea- 
siness, may  try  the  retreats  of  solitude  without  danger: 
and  if,  after  a  certain  period,  an  attachment  to  its  mild 
and  tranquil  scenes  continues,  and  Ihe  heart  enjoys  that 
quietude  and  content  which  it  before  so  vainly  wished 
to  experience,  society  may  be  advantageously  relin- 
quished. The  patient  may,  under  such  circumstances, 
safely  indulge  the  natural  inclinations  of  the  mind,  ana 


286  CONCLUSION. 

gratify  the  habitual  feelings  of  his  heart :  he  may  then 
exclaim  in  the  language  of  the  poet, 

"  Oh  !  snatch  me  swifi  from  those  tumultuous  scenes, 

To  lonely  groves  and  sweetly  venlant  greens, 

To  where  religion,  peace,  anil  comfort  dwell, 

And  cheer  with  heavenly  rays  the  lonely  cell: 

To  where  no  ruffling  winds,  110  raging  seas, 

Disturb  the  mind  amidst  its  pensive  ease  : 

Each  passion  calm  ;  where  mild  affections  shine, 

The  soul-enjoying  quietude  divine  : 

Unknown  in  private  or  in  public  strife, 

Soft  sailing  down  the  placid  stream  of  life  : 

Aw'd  by  no  terrors,  by  no  cares  perpIex'U; 

My  life  a  gentle  passage  to  the  next." 

But  when  that  delightful  tranquillity  of  mind,  which 
an  excess  of  social  pleasure  lias  impaired  or  destroyed, 
is  not  restored  to  its  original  purity  by  the  uninterrupt- 
ed quietude  of  seclusion,  it  may  fairly  be  concluded, 
that  there  is  some  natural  and  constitutional  defect, 
that  defeats  the  remedy,  and  prevents  the  soul  from 
tasting  that  serenity  which  is  so  essential  to  the  enjoy- 
ment of  human  happiness.  Under  such  circumstances 
it  is  dangerous  to  indulge  the  pleasures  of  solitude ;  the 
sufferer  should  fly  back  to  society  ;  cultivate  the  duties 
of  active  life,  and  solicit,  with  temperate  indulgence, 
its  more  agreeable  enjoyments.  For,  although  the 
pleasures  and  occupations  of  the  world  cannot  eradi- 
cate this  species  of  intellectual  disease,  they  may,  by 
being  judiciously  followed,  suspend  its  progress,  and 
alleviate  its  pangs.  That  case  must  always  be  despe- 
rate, when  the  antidote  is  too  weak  to  reach  the  poison, 
or  to  counteract  its  operation.  A  pious  resignation  to 
his  fate  can  alone  afford  relief. 

"  Oh  !  as  it  pleases  thee,  thou  Power  Supreme, 
To  drive  my  bark  thro'  life's  more  rapid  stream, 
If  lowering  storms  my  desiinVl  course  attend, 
And  ocean  rage  'til  this  black  voyage  shall  end, 
Let  ocean  rage,  and  storms  indignant  roar, 
I  bow  submissive  and  reafgn'd  adore  : 
Resign'd  adore,  hi  various  changes  tri'd  ; 
Thy  own  lov'd  Son  my  anchor  ami  my  guide: 
Reaign'd  adore,  whate'er  thy  will  decree  ; 
My  faith  in  Jesus,  and  my  hope  in  Thee  ; 
And  humbly  wail  'til,  through  a  sea  of  woes, 
I  reach  the  wish:d-for  harbor  of  repose." 

There  are,  however,  circumstances  under  which  ft  is 
absolutely  necessary  to  retire  from  the  world,  in  order 
to  avoid  the  recurrence  of  sentiments  and  feelings  that 


CONCLUSION  287 

toe'pregnant  With  unhappihesp.  To  a  mind  that  feels 
unconquerable  disgust  of  the  mariners  and  maxims  of 
a  world  which  it  cannot  reform;  to  a  heart  that  turns 
with  horror  from  the  various  sights  the  world  exhibits 
of  human  wo,  which  he  is  incapable  of  relieving  5  to  a 
bosom  that  is  stung  by  the  various  vices  which  he  can- 
not prevent  or  restrain,  and  which  are  hourly  practised 
among  the  sons  of  men,  retirement  becomes  an  obliga- 
tion which  the  justice  that  every  good  man  owes  to  his 
own  felicity  demands.  The  impulse  of  solitude  may  in 
such  cases  be  conscientiously  indulged,  in  the  firmest 
confidence  of  its  rectitude.  It  is  a  retreat  necessary  to 
the  preservation,  not  only  of  happiness  but  of  virtue ; 
and  the  world  itself  may  be  benefited  by  its  effects.  Re- 
moved from  the  sad  scenes  of  inactivity,  wretchedness, 
and  guilt,  the  tender  feelings  of  pity  are  regulated  with 
composure;  the  mind  views  its  own  operations  with 
nicer  discrimination ;  the  high  sense  of  virtue  is  ren- 
dered less  indignant ;  and  the  hatred  against  vice  more 
temperate  and  discerning.  The  violent  emotions  which 
created  the  disgusting  pain  gently  subside ;  and  as  our 
reflections  on  the  condition  of  human  nature  prevail, 
the  soul  feels  how  incumbent  it  is  to  endeavor  to  bear 
with  the  follies,  to  alleviate  the  miseries,  and  to  reform 
the  vices,  of  mankind  ;  while  the  leisure  and  quietude 
which  solitude  affords,  enables  a  man,  who  has  thus  re- 
tired, to  point  oiit  the  most  likely  means  of  accomplish- 
ing the  ends  which  his  lonely  meditation,  and  philan- 
thropic feelings,  have  generally  inspired. 

"  With  aspect  mild,  and  elevated  eye, 

Behold  him  sealed  on  a  mount  serene, 

Above  the  fogs  of  sense,  and  passion's  storm. 

All  the  black  cares  and  tumults  of  this  life, 

Like  harmless  thunder  breaking  at  his  feet} 

Excite  his  pity,  nor  impair  his  peace. 

Earth's  genuine  sons,  the  sceptred  and  the  slave, 

A  mingled  mob  !  a  wandering  herd  !  he  sees, 

Bewilder'din  the  vale  ;  in  all  unlike, 

His  full  reverse  in  all !    What  higher  praise 

What  stronger  demonstration  of  the  right  ? 

Himself  too  much  he  prizes  to  be  proud, 

And  nothing  thinks  so  great  in  man  as  man. 

Too  dear  he  holds  man's  interest  to  neglect 

Another's  welfare,  or  his  right  invade. 

Wrong  he  sustains  with  temper,  looks  on  heav'n, 

Nor  stoops  to  think  his  injurcr  his  foe  ; 

But  looks  with  gentle  piiy  round,  to  find 

How  he  can  best  relieve  another's  wo, 

Or  hush  the  vicious  passions  into  peace." 


288  CONCLUSION 

Those  who  have  passed  their  lives  in  the  domestic 
privacies  of  retirement;  who  have  been  only  used  to 
the  soft  and  gentle  offices  of  friendship,  and  to  the  ten- 
der endearments  of  love;  who  have  formed  their  notion 
of  virtue  from  those  bright  images  which  the  purity 
of  religion,  the  perfection  of  moral  sentiments,  and  the 
feelings  of  an  affectionate  heart,  have  planted  in  their 
minds,  are  too  apt  to  yield  to  the  abhorrence  and  dis- 
gust they  must  unavoidably  feel  on  a  first  view  of  the 
artificial  manners  and  unblushing  vices  of  the  world. 
Issuing  from  the  calm  retreats  of  simplicity  and  inno- 
cence, and  fondly  hoping  to  meet  with  more  enlarged 
perfection  in  the  world,  their  amiable,  just  and  benevo- 
lent dispositions  are  shocked  at  the  sour  severities,  the 
sordid  selfishness,  the  gross  injustice,  the  base  artifices, 
and  the  inhuman  cruelties,  which  deform  the  fairest 
features  of  social  life,  and  disgrace  the  best  famed  fab- 
ric of  human  polity.  Revolting,  however,  as  this  dis- 
appointment must  certainly  be,  and  greviously  as  the 
feelings  of  such  characters  be  wounded  on  their  enter- 
ing the  world,  it  is  a  cowardly  desertion  of  their  duty 
to  shrink  from  the  task,  and  withdraw  their  services 
from  their  fellow  creatures.  Constituted  as  society  is, 
human  happiness,  and  the  improvement  of  the  species, 
materially  depend  upon  the  active  concurrence.of  every 
individual  in  the  general  scheme  of  nature;  and  the 
man  who  withholds  his  assistance  to  promote  the  pub- 
lic good,  loosens  or  destroys  a  link  in  that  chain  of 
things,  by  which  the  whole  is  intended  to  be  kept  to- 
gether and  preserved.  The  doctrine,  therefore  cannot 
be  too  forcibly  inculcated,  that  is  indispensably  incum- 
bent on  every  individual  so  to  accommodate  himself  to 
the  manners  of  his  contemporaries,  and  the  temper  of 
the  times,  that  he  may  have  an  opportunity  of  promo- 
ting the  happiness  of  others,  while  he  increases,  his 
own;  of  extending  the  scale  of  human  knowledge  by 
his  social  industry  :  of  relieving  distress  by  his  bounty ; 
and  of  exhibiting  the  deformities  of  vice,  and  the  beau- 
ties of  virtue,  both  by  his  precept  and  example.  And 
this  sacred  obligation,  by  which  every  good  man  feels 
himself  so  firmly  bound  to  promote  the  welfare  and 
happiness  of  his  fellow  creatures,  of  course  enjoins  him 
to  shun,  with  equal  perseverance,  the  giddy  multitude 
in  their  pursuits  of  lawless  pleasure,  and  to  avoid  the 
thoughtless  votaries,  and  baneful  orgies,  of  wit,  intem- 
perance, and  sensual  debauchery.  This  is  best  effected 
by  every  individual  forming  a  rational  scheme  of  do- 


CONCLUSION.  289 

mestic  enjoyment,  and  engaging  in  some  useful  occu- 
pation, in  which  neither  the  frivolous  pursuits  of  the 
vainly  busy,  the  ostentatious  parade  of  the  richly  proud, 
the  faithless  pleasures  of  the  unthinking  gay,  the  insa- 
tiable anxieties  of  avarice,  nor  the  distracting  com- 
punctions of  vice,  shall  form  any  part ;  but  in  which, 
with  a  few  amiable  and  faithful  friends,  he  shall  pass 
the  intervals  of  virtuous  industry,  or  charitable  exer- 
tion, in  the  bosom  of  a  fond  and  cheerful  family,  whose 
mutual  endearments  and  affections  will  confer  on  each 
other  the  highest  happiness  human  nature  is  capable 
of  enjoying. 

Active  in  Indolence,  abroad  who  roam 
In  quest  of  happiness,  which  dwells  at  home, 
With  vain  pursuits  fatigued,  at  length  will  find 
Its  real  dwelling  is  a  virtuous  mind. 

Retirement,  however,  when  it  is  not  inconsistent 
with  our  duties  to  society,  or  injurious  to  those  family 
interests  which  it  is  one  of  our  principal  foundations 
of  happiness  to  promote,  is  capable  of  producing  the 
most  beneficial  effects  on  our  minds.  The  self-com- 
munion which  must  accompany  a  wise  and  rational 
solitude,  not  only  fosters  and  confirms  our  virtuous  in- 
clinations, but  detects  and  expels  those  latent  vices 
which  have  secretly  crept  into  and  corrupted  the  heart. 
It  induces  a  habit  of  contemplation,  which  invigorates 
the  faculties  of  the  soul ;  raises  them  to  the  highest 
energies,  and  directs  them  to  purposes  more  elevated 
and  noble  than  it  was  possible  for  them,  amidst  the 
business  and  pleasures  of  public  life,  to  attain.  It 
tends,  indeed,  to  unfold  the  powers  of  the  mind  to  so 
great  an  extent,  that  we  are  ashamed  of  having  thought 
that  our  talents  were  confined  within  the  limits  we  had 
prescribed,  and  blush  at  the  ignorance  and  cowardice 
by  which  we  were  deceived.  The  activity  of  genius 
is  unlimited,  and  the  measure  of  its  effects  depends  en- 
tirely upon  a  steady  exertion  of  its  powers.  A  coura- 
geous and  persevering  industry  is  capable  of  surmount- 
ing every  difficulty,  and  of  performing  the  highest 
achievements.  A  sense  of  intellectual  weakness  so 
far  from  being  indulged,  ought  to  be  combated  with 
25 


290  CONCLUSION. 

fortitude  and  resolution,  until  it  is  completely  destroy- 
ed. The  human  mind,  like  a  noble  tree,  extends  its 
branches  widely  round,  and  raises  them  to  the  skies, 
in  proportion  as  the  soil  on  which  it  grows  is  more 
or  less  cultivated  and  manured  :  but  not  being  fixed 
to  any  certain  spot,  its  growth  may  be  improved 
to  any  size,  by  transplanting  it  to  the  soil  in  which  it 
most  delights  to  dwell.  By  that  firm  reliance  on  its 
natural  strength,  that  indefatigable  exertion  of  its  im- 
proved powers,  that  steady  observance  of  its  success- 
ful operations,  that  warm  and  active  zeal  for  excel- 
lence to  which  it  is  invited  by  the  advantages,  and  en- 
couraged by  the  opportunities,  which  seclusion  affords, 
it  will  ascend  from  one  stage  of  improvement  to  an- 
other, from  acquisition  to  acquisition ;  and,  by  a  grad- 
ual and  steady  progress,  reach  a  comprehensive  eleva- 
tion, as  great  and  surprising  as  it  was  once  thought 
visionary  and  unattainable.  To  these  sublime  and 
noble  effects  of  human  intellect,  solitude  is  the  sincer- 
est  guide  and  most  powerful  auxiliary  ;  and  he  \vli3 
aspires  to  mental  and  moral  excellence,  whose  soul  is 
anxious  to  become  both  great  and  good,  will,  of  course, 
seek  its  inspiring  shades. 

Solitude,  indeed,  under  any  circumstanceSj  can  only 
become  injurious  by  being  carried  to  excess,  or  by 
being  misapplied ;  and  what  is  there  that  will  not,  by 
being  abused,  or  misapplied,  be  rendered  equally  inju- 
rious? The  highest  advantages  society  is  capable  of 
conferring,  the  loftiest  flights  of  fancy,  the  best  affec- 
tions of  the  heart,  the  greatest  strength  of  body,  the 
happiest  activity  of  the  mind,  the  elements  of  fire  and 
water,  the  blessings  of  liberty,  and,  in  short,  all  the 
excellent  gifts  of  Providence,  as  well  as  all  the  ingen- 
ious contrivances  of  man,  may,  by  these  means  be 
perverted,  their  uses  destroyed,  their  ends  and  objects 
defeated,  and  their  operations  and  effects  rendered  ex- 
tensively mischievous  and  detrimental. 

The  general  disadvantages  which  solitude  is  cer- 
tainly capable  of  producing,  cannot  be  lessened  by  con- 
ceding to  its  adversaries,  that  it  is,  when  sought  under 
unfavorable  circumstances,  inauspicious  to  human  hap- 


CONCLCSION.  291 

piness.  It  would  be  overstepping  the  sacred  bounda- 
ries of  truth,  and  violating  the  rights  of  candor,  not  to 
admit  that  irrational  solitude  frequently  overclouds  the 
reason,  contracts  the  understanding,  vitiates  the  man- 
ners, inflames  the  passions,  corrupts  the  imagination, 
sours  the  temper,  and  debases  the  whole  character  of 
its  votaries.  Nor  is  it  necessary  to  deny,  that  many  of 
them  instead  of  employing  the  delightful  leisure  which, 
retirement  affords,  to  hush  the  jarring  passions,  to 
chastise  the  fancy,  to  elevate  and  adorn  the  mind,  and 
to  reform  and  meliorate  the  heart,  have  been  too  often 
occupied  in  the  most  frivolous  pursuits,  and  in  the  in- 
dulgence of  the  most  sordid  and  criminal  desires. 

But  these  instances  in  which  the  pure  and  peaceful 
retreats  of  solitude  have  been  tainted  and  disturbed  by 
the  vicious  and  turbulent  desires  of  the  world,  only 
demonstrate  the  infirm,  corrupt,  and  imperfect  nature 
of  the  species,  and  not  in  the  smallest  degree,  depre- 
ciate the  value  of  those  high  advantages  which  result 
from  occasional  and  well  regulated  solitude. 

It  is  said,  by  a  celebrated  German  writer,  in  a  poeti- 
cal personification  of  solitude,  that  she  holds  in  one 
hand  a  cup  of  bliss,  in  which  she  presents  unceasing 
sweets  to  the  lips  of  the  happy ;  and  in  the  other 
grasps  an  envenomed  dagger,  which  she  plants  .with 
increasing  tortures  in  the  bosom  of  the  wretched,^  but 
this  must  be  considered  as  the  language  of  the  muse, 
and  mere  flight  of  poetic  fancy ;  except,  indeed,  so  far 
as  it  tends  to  enforce  the  idea,  that  virtue  will  always 
be  happy,  and  vice  forever  miserable ;  for  retirement, 
while  it  pours  the  balm  of  comfort  into  the  aching  bo- 
som of  the  unfortunate,  and  offers  a  cordial,  cheering 
as  nectar,  to  the  drooping  spirits  of  the  wise  and  vir- 
tuous, only  operates  as  a  corrosive,  agonizing  poison, 
on  the  constitutions  of  the  weak  and  vicious. 

It  is  a  gross  mistake,  to  suppose  that  the  pleasures 
of  social  life  are  incompatible  with  the  benefits  to  be 
derived  from  solitude.  They  may  not  only  be  inter- 
mingled with,  but  made  mutually  to  aid  and  augment 
each  other.  Solitude  may  surely  be  enjoyed  without 
undergoing  an  exile  from  the  world  ;  and  society  may 


292  CONCLUSION. 

be  freely  mixed  with,  without  absolutely  renouncing 
the  pleasures  of  retirement.  The  circumstances  of 
life,  indeed,  call  loudly  on  every  mind  to  interchange 
the  pursuits  of  activity  and  scenes  of  quietude  and  re- 
pose. The  alliance  of  solitude  and  society  is  neces- 
sary to  the  perfection  not  only  of  the  intellectual  charac- 
ter, but  to  the  corporeal  constitution  of  man.  To  con- 
clude that  the  duties  of  life  must  necessarily  be  neg- 
lected by  devoting  a  portion  of  our  time  to  solitude,  is 
much  more  erroneous  than  to  conclude  that  those  du 
ties  are  not  always  fulfilled  amidst  the  pleasures  or  bu- 
siness of  society. 

Daily  observation  proves  most  clearly,  that  many  of 
the  charms,  and  some  of  the  benefits,  of  rural  retreat, 
may  be  enjoyed  without  retiring  to  any  very  consider- 
able distance  from  the  metropolis,  the  seat  of  social 
joys  and  interested  activity.  Petrarch,  during  his  res- 
idence in  the  city  of  Parma,  though  extremely  flattered 
by  the  friendship  shown  him,  was  glad  to  steal  from 
public  life  as  often  as  he  could,  and  to  indulge  the 
high  delight  he  naturally  felt  in  wandering  through 
the  fields  and  woods  which  surrounded  the  metropolis. 
One  day,  led  by  his  love  of  exercise,  he  passed  the 
river  of  Lenza,  which  is  three  miles  from  Parma,  and 
found  himself  in  the  territory  of  Rhegio,  in  a  forest 
which  is  called  Sylva  Plana,  or  Low  Wood  :  though 
it  is  situated  upon  a  hill,  from  whence  are  discovered 
the  Alps,  and  all  Cisalpine  Gauk  Aged  oaks,  whose 
heads  seemed  to  touch  the  clouds,  sheltered  the  ave- 
nues of  the  forest  from  the  rays  of  the  sun :  while  the 
fresh  breezes  which  descended  from  the  neighboring 
mountains,  and  the  little  rivulets  which  brawled  along 
its  skirts,  tempered  the  meridian  heats  of  the  day,  and 
preserved  to  the  earth,  even  in  the  greatest  droughts, 
a  soft  verdure,  enamelled  with  the  finest  flowers. 
Birds  of  every  kind  warbled  forth  their  rural  songs 
from  the  thick  coverts,  while  deer,  and  every  animal 
of  the  chase,  sported  through  the  purlieus.  In  the 
middle  of  this  beautiful  forest  nature  had  formed  a 
romantic  theatre,  which,  from  its  enchanting  decora- 
tions, she  seemed  to  have  designed  for  the  residence 


CONCLUSION.  293 

of  the  muses.  The  charms  of  this  delightful  retreat 
struck  the  mind  of  Petrarch  with  a  sort  of  inspiration, 
and  revived  so  strongly  his  original  taste  for  solitude 
that  on  his  return  to  Parma,  he  endeavored  to  procure 
some  spot  near  the  environs  of  the  city,  to  which  lie 
might  occasionally  retire  from  the  fatigues  of  his  arch- 
deaconry, and  indulge  his  mind  in  the  blessings  of  in- 
nocence, and  the  delights  of  rural  repose.  The  indus- 
try of  his  inquiries  soon  furnished  him  wila  a  small 
cottage,  exactly  suited  to  his  wishes,  situated  at  the 
end  of  the  city,  near  the  abbey  of  St.  Anthony.  To 
this  place  he  fondly  and  frequently  retired,  whenever 
he  could  escape  from  the  duties  of  his  church,  and  the 
invitations  of  his  friends.  The  superiority  of  his  tal- 
ents had  at  this  time  attracted  the  attention  and  ap- 
plause of  mankind ;  and  his  engaging  manners  secu- 
red to  him  the  respect  and  esteem  of  the  nobles  of 
Parma,  who  besieged  him  with  the  most  friendly  and 
flattering  importunities  to  partake  of  their  daily  parties 
of  pleasure.  Petrarch,  however,  had  formed  notions 
of  happiness  very  foreign  to  those  which  result  from, 
the  society  of  luxurious  lords  or  fashionable  females, 
to  whom,  in  general  poetry  afforded  no  delight,  nor 
philosophy  instruction  ;  and  the  companions  to  whom 
he  could  afford  neither  amusement  nor  information, 
were  not  likely  to  afford  him  much  satisfaction.  The 
quiet  and  simple  pleasures  of  retirement  were  more 
delightful  to  his  mind  than  all  the  elegances  and  splen- 
dors of  Parma;  but  this  partiality  to  retirement  did 
not  induce  him  to  renounce  the  rational  society  which 
a  few  select  friends,  with  whom  he  had  closely  con- 
nected himself,  was  occasionally  capable  of  affording 
him.  "  So  conveniently,"  says  he,  "  is  this  delightful 
cottage  situated,  that  I  enjoy  all  the  advantages  of 
rural  retirement,  and  yet  retain  within  my  reach  all 
the  pleasures  with  which  this  gay  and  elegant  city 
abounds.  The  society  of  a  few  select  friends  recreates 
my  mind  whenever  it  is  distracted  by  the  anxieties  of 
study,  or  stagnated  by  the  stilness  of  solitude ;  and 
when  I  am  satiated  with  the  pleasures  of  the  town,  I 
fly  with  rapture  to  the  sweet  repose,  and  to  all  the  in- 
25* 


294  CONCLUSION. 

teresting  and  endearing  occupations  of  this  charming 
retreat.  Oh  !  may  the  kindness  of  fortune  Jong  in- 
dulge me  in  the  enjoyment  of  this  neutral  state ;  this 
happy  alternation  of  rural  tranquillity  and  convivial 
solace  !  a  state  of  felicity  to  which  neither  the  ancho- 
rites of  Egypt,  nor  the  philosophers  of  Greece,  ever 
attained.  In  this  humble  abode,  let  me  quietly  pass 
the  remainder  of  my  days,  unseduced  by  the  charms 
of  greatness,  and  uninterrupted  by  the  pleasures  of  the 
world.  Fly,  all  ye  vain  delusions  and  fantastic  dreams, 
from  this  cottage  of  content,  and  seek  your  native  ter- 
ritories, the  palaces  of  princes,  and  the  altars  of  am- 
bition !"  The  voice  of  wisdom  and  virtue  calls  aloud 
on  every  man  to  adopt  the  scheme  of  happiness  which 
Petrarch  so  successfully  practised.  By  thus  dividing 
our  time  between  the  busy  cares  and  innocent  amuse- 
ments of  public  life,  and  the  studious  and  tranquil 
pleasures  of  retirement,  between  the  gay  pursuits  of 
personal  gratifications,  and  the  more  noble  and  eleva- 
ted exercises  of  intellect,  we  may  avoid  the  dangers 
of  contracting,  on  the  one  hand,  a  passion  for  light 
and  frivolous  dissipation,  and  on  the  other  a  joyless 
disposition  to  misanthropic  severity ;  and  may  shun 
the  most,  if  not  all  the  evil  consequences  which  either 
solitude  or  society  is  capable  of  producing,  which  when 
indulged  irrationally,  or  indiscreetly,  in  general  prove 
the  Scylla  or  Charybdis  of  our  lives. 

These  are  the  observations  which  it  has  occurred  to 
me  to  make  upon  the  advantages  or  disadvantages 
with  which  those  important  means  of  human  happiness 
are  respectively  pregnant.  lean  truly  say,  that  I  have 
felt,  whenever  the  cares  of  life,  and  the  duties  of  my 
profession,  have  allowed  me  leisure  to  retire,  the  most 
sublime  and  satisfactory  enjoyment  from  solitude  ;  and 
I  sincerely  wish  that  every  one  who  is  disposed  to 
taste  it,  may  receive  the  same  comfort  and  pleasure 
from  its  cnarms.  But  I  exhort  them,  while  they  enjoy 
the  sacred  blessings  of  repose,  not  to  neglect  the  social 
virtues,  the  consolations  of  friendship,  or  the  endear- 
ments of  love ;  but  so  manage  the  wants  of  nature,  and 
arrange  the  business  and  concerns  of  life,  as  to  find  an 


CONCLUSION.  295 

adequate  portion  of  leisure  for  the  noble  duties  of  re- 
tirement, as  well  as  for  company  and  conversation  of 
the  world.  May  they  in  short,  enjoy  the  admiration 
and  esteem  of  their  friends,  and  a  complacent  appro- 
bation of  their  own  conduct,  without  losing  that  relish 
for  the  pleasures  of  rational  retirement,  by  which  alone 
these  high  advantages  are  most  likely  to  be  gained. 

To  love  all  mankind,  and  to  promote,  to  the  utmost 
of  our  power,  the  happiness  of  all  those  with  whom 
we  are  more  intimately  connected,  is  the  highest  in- 
junction both  of  morality  and  religion.  But  this  im- 
portant duty  certainly  does  not  require  that  we  should 
surrender  ourselves  with  servile  obedience,  or  abject 
submission,  to  any  one,  however  superior  he  may  be, 
either  in  talents,  in  station,  or  in  merit.  On  the  con- 
trary, it  is  the  duty  of  every  one,  not  only  to  cultivate 
the  inclination,  but  to  reserve  the  power  of  retiring  oc- 
casionally from  the  world,  without  indulging  a  dispo- 
sition to  renounce  its  society  or  contemn  its  manners. 

While  we  assert,  with  manly  resolution,  the  inde- 
pendent spirit  of  human  nature,  our  happiness  may  be 
considerably  augmented,  by  extracting  from  the  multi- 
tudinous affairs  of  the  world,  the  various  enjoyments 
and  wise  instructions  it  is  capable  of  affording.  So- 
ciety is  the  school  of  wisdom,  and  solitude  the  temple 
of  virtue.  In  the  one  we  learn  the  art  of  living  with 
comfort  among  our  fellow  creatures,  and  in  the  other, 
of  living  with  quietude  by  ourselves.  A  total  retreat 
from  the  world  would  place  us  aside  from  that  part 
which  Providence  chiefly  intended  us  to  act;  but  with- 
out occasional  retreat  it  is  certain  that  we  must  act 
that  part  very  ill.  There  will  be  neither  consistency 
in  the  conduct,  nor  dignity  in  the  character,  of  one 
who  sets  apart  no  share  of  his  time  for  meditation  and 
reflection.  "In  the  heat  and  bustle  of  life,"  says  an. 
eloquent  preacher,  "while  passion  is  every  moment 
throwing  false  colors  on  the  objects  around  us,  nothing 
can  be  viewed  in  a  just  light.  If  you  wish  that  rea- 
son should  exert  her  native  power,  you  must  step  aside 
from  the  crowd  into  the  cold  and  silent  shade.  It  is 
thus  that  with  sober  and  steady  eye  she  examines  what 


296  CONCLUSION. 

is  good  or  ill,  what  is  wise  or  foolish,  in  human  con- 
duct :  she  looks  back  on  the  past ;  she  looks  forward 
to  a  future  :  and  forms  plans  not  for  the  present  mo- 
ment only,  but  for  the  whole  life.  How  should  that 
man  discharge  any  part  of  his  duty  aright,  who  never 
suffers  his  passions  to  cool?  And  how  should  his 
passions  cool,  who  is  engaged,  without  interruption,  in 
the  tumults  of  the  world?  This  incessant  stir  may- 
be called  the  perpetual  drunkenness  of  life.  It  raises 
that  eager  fermentation  of  spirit,  which  will  be  ever 
sending  forth  the  dangerous  fumes  of  rashness  and 
folly.  Whereas  he  who  mingles  rational  retreat  with 
worldly  affairs,  remains  calm  and  master  of  himself. 
He  is  not  whirled  round,  and  rendered  giddy  by  the 
agitation  of  the  world:  but  from  that  sacred  retirement, 
in  which  he  has  been  conversant  among  higher  ob- 
jects, comes  forth  into  the  world  with  manly  tranquil- 
lity, fortified  by  principles  which  he  has  formed,  and 
prepared  for  whatever  may  befal." 

Sweet  solitude !  when  life's  gay  hours  are  past, 
Howe'er  we  range,  in  thee  we  fix  at  last. 
Tossed  throuch  tempestuous  seas,  the  voyage  o'er, 
Pale  we  look  back  and  bless  the  friendly  shore. 
Our  own  strict  judges,  our  past  life  we  scan. 
And  ask  if  glory  hath  enlarged  the  span  ; 
If  bright  the  prospect  we  the'grave  defy, 
Trust  future  ages,  and  contented  die. 


THE   END. 


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